GODS OF OPPORTUNITY
by Ayala Atreides
Summary: The Stray woke Rabou up from five hundred years of non-existence. He and Yato fought. Rabou lost. That should've been the end. Yet here he is, with a second chance he didn't ask for. Somehow, he woke up again. Adrift in a strange new era, Rabou searches for answers and for a new path to walk. Can he outrun his past and forge a new future? Not even the gods know the answer to that.
1. Prologue

Ahoy, ahoy! Welcome to my AU. Yes, the AU that not many people were clamoring for: Rabou reincarnates after the season 1 finale. Do you enjoy the "former villain becomes awkward friend" trope? Because it's my favorite trope ever. Combine that with the fact that unpopular minor characters are my fandom specialty, and here we are! If you also like underrated minor characters, or if you're one of the few people that enjoyed the Rabou story arc in the anime, then you're in the right place! If you didn't like the Rabou sub-plot and you still clicked on this story, that's pretty cool! Maybe I can change your opinion. Or not. Either way, I realize that this is not a popular character, so if you're reading this: thank you! Let's roll.

* * *

 **PROLOGUE: PREMONITION**

She could feel the eyes again—unseen, but their gaze was heavy on her nonetheless. A cold, needling stare burrowed into her back and seeped into her skin. Noriko shivered as she climbed out of her tiny Nissan, drawing her dark purple jacket tighter around her shoulders. She hurriedly dug her messenger bag out from the jumbled contents of her car's cramped backseat, hit the lock button on her key remote, and rushed to the door of her apartment building, jerking it open with trembling hands. The door hissed to a close behind her, moving so slowly on its hydraulic hinge—till, finally, it clicked shut. That sound filled her with some small measure of relief and she sagged back against the door just for a moment, trying to steady her racing heartbeat.

 _It's getting worse again,_ she thought sourly. That feeling of being watched… it came and went, but recently it had come back and it was stronger than it had been in years. And the sightings were happening again, too: those things half-glimpsed from the corner of her eye. Sometimes they were people, seen just for a second and then gone a moment later. Sometimes they were… well, definitely _not_ people. More like shapes, dark and often formless, that lurked in her peripheral vision. And sometimes, the shapes weren't so formless at all.

At long last, she rounded the corner of the second-floor hallway and her front door came into view. She beamed and hurried her steps. Her key hit the lock and she practically sprinted through the door. As soon as the door shut behind her, she locked it and rested her forehead against it, heaving a gusty sigh. In the safety of her apartment, she felt that watchful sensation retreat a bit more. She straightened up, kicked her shoes off and rolled her shoulders, stretching her arms up into the air.

"I thought I'd _never_ get out of that office tonight," Noriko groaned, shaking her hands out and stretching her wrists. It'd been a hectic day of coding and debugging. She shed her jacket and dropped that and her bag into a lacquered basket beside the door; then she turned around, gazing around her apartment in satisfaction. It wasn't very spacious—just one tiny bedroom, a bathroom, a cozy little living area, and the cramped kitchen with a low counter separating it from the rest of the room—but it was hers and she was perfectly happy in her "nest", as she liked to think of it.

She yawned as she stumbled towards the kitchen. The sudden resurgence of these "incidents" wasn't helping her energy levels, on top of those long hours at work. As much as she didn't want to think of it, perhaps it was time for another appointment, another test; the last thing she needed was to start seeing things at work.

She knew what her mother would call them: ayakashi, Phantoms, demons, spirits… weird, supernatural stuff. Noriko called it "seeing things", although no doctor had ever been able to diagnose her with anything, neither mental nor physical. Heavens knew she'd been to clinics of all kinds often enough, going back every other year or so in the hopes that _this time_ , they'd finally figure out what was wrong with her.

Every single one of them had been left baffled. Noriko, according to each and every doctor she'd ever seen, was the picture of perfect health for a young woman at her age... not that it'd ever stopped her from being the resident oddball in school. After twenty-seven years of these sightings, Noriko would've almost preferred a psychiatric diagnosis.

Whatever it was, it ran in the family. Her mother supposedly had the same sightings, and her grandmother, and her great grandmother, and so on. All of them had been shrine maidens for most of their lives, too, so it probably shouldn't have been surprising that they'd assign a supernatural meaning to these "visions". Of course, after growing up as the local loony amongst her peers, a life as a shrine maiden was the last thing Noriko had wanted. So, here she was, living the urban lifestyle... and her childhood "looniness" had tagged along for the ride.

Her stomach growled as she tugged open the fridge door and peered inside. She shoved her free hand into her sweater pocket — and she felt the dry brush of stiff paper against her knuckles.

"Hmm?" She tugged it out of her pocket—a business card, printed on cheap paper and uneven at the edges. She held it up to examine it. "When did I pick this up?" she murmured, frowning. She could almost remember, but...

There wasn't anything outstanding about the card. It was sparsely decorated with just a title, phrase, and phone number:

 _DELIVERY GOD_

 _WISHES GRANTED ALL YEAR_

 _REPAIRS / DELIVERIES / CLEANING_

 _ALL JOBS ACCEPTED_

 _090-ZZZZ-**3*_

"Delivery god," she muttered sourly. She pushed strands of shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair out of her face as she studied the card. Was this some delivery guy's idea of a joke? Or a way to drum up more business by trying to sound exciting? Whatever it was, it wouldn't be very effective; that phone number wasn't even real.

And then she remembered where she'd gotten the damn thing— the card had caught her eye, stuck beneath the windshield wiper on her car as she left work, and she had absently stuck it in her pocket, planning on throwing it away rather than dropping it on the ground. Frowning, she turned to the other side of the kitchen and went to the recycling bin. As she held her hand out to drop the card into it, though, she paused. Pulling her hand back, she read it again.

"Wishes granted, huh?" she said under her breath. If she could simply wish her problems away, she'd have done it a long time ago, _that_ was for sure! Scoffing at herself, she tossed the card onto the kitchen counter and turned back to the refrigerator to dig out some beef. She'd been craving yakisoba all day.

As she bustled about her kitchen, fixing up her meal, her gaze kept sliding sideways though—back to that business card. It rested innocently on the counter, just like any ordinary card, but its white surface seemed unnaturally bright. Why was there a fake number on it, anyway?

...And... what would happen if someone _did_ dial it? She shook her head again, tearing her eyes off it and turning back to her noodles.

When her dinner was finally done, she smiled to herself and dished some out into a bowl, carrying it carefully to the table in the living area. Her stomach growled and she shushed it.

"Calm down, dinner's ready," she chided. Plopping herself down beside the table, she pulled her laptop over and opened it up, rubbing her hands together. As the laptop slowly woke up, she scooped up the first steaming mouthful of noodles and blew on it a few times before eagerly digging in. She smiled delightedly, sighing in contentment. Not bad for having been thrown together in such a hurry!

Once her aging laptop had fully woken up— she made a mental note to start looking for a new one after her next paycheck came in—she went immediately to her Twitter feed to catch up on whatever she might've missed during the day. Busily updating and retweeting, the business card on the counter quickly faded from her mind.

That is, until she went to clean off her dishes half an hour later and there it was, waiting for her, still as oddly magnetic as it had been before. She scowled at it as she dumped her bowl in the sink, a bit more forcefully than was necessary. That stupid, fake phone number… what was a "delivery god", anyway? Who'd ever heard of a god of deliveries? What was it supposed to be, some kind of divine handyman? She rapped her fingernails against the countertop, the clicking sound echoing in her ears.

And the biggest question: why did she want to test it out so badly? Why couldn't she just toss the damn card in the recycling bin and be done with it? That was what she ought to do, and yet...

It really would be _awfully_ convenient if she could just wish her problems away, but nothing in life was that easy.

There was no reason to call that number. The call wouldn't connect even if she did dial it, she reminded herself. How could a fake phone number possibly work? Her eyes slid back to the card again, as if it were a magnet.

If only she could wish away this feeling of being watched...

Noriko sighed heavily, then went to get her phone. Once she'd dialed the damned thing and nothing happened, she'd have proven to herself that the card was just some practical joke, and then she'd feel properly foolish and throw the card away and move on with her evening. She punched in the nonsensical number and hit the little green "Call" button...

She waited in silence, phone in hand, feeling like an idiot already...

And then it rang. She yelped and fumbled the phone, scrambling to catch it, then stared at the screen in shock. It was really ringing— and it wasn't a conveniently-timed incoming call either. The stupid fake number wasn't so fake at all.

It kept ringing and part of her hoped no one would pick it up. She wasn't sure which was worse—that she'd dialed a fake number while expecting it not to connect, or that the fake number was somehow real and she was dialing a total stranger with a phone number that shouldn't even function. It rang and rang- she was probably going to get a "This number is not in service" message any second-

Her heartbeat jolted into her throat when someone answered on the other end.

A deep voice spoke, resonating in her ear. "This is the delivery god Rabou," he intoned. "What is your wish? I shall grant it for the price of five yen."

"Um…" She stared blankly at the wall across the kitchen, totally at a loss. This _had_ to be a prank of some kind, but he sounded so serious!

"You called the telephone number on my card, you _must_ have a wish to make," the man on the other end said, as if this was something plainly obvious. "Whatever it is, I shall grant it. Tell me what it is that you need. Make an offering of five yen, and I shall accept any job you may require of me."

He sure as hell didn't sound like he was kidding. Was he an actor or something? Maybe this was a publicity stunt of some kind, for a movie or a TV show.

"Uh, w-what kind of wishes?" she asked hesitantly. There was a brief pause at the other end, like he hadn't expected that question.

"Whatever type of wish you choose to make," he said. Again, he sounded as if this was something she ought to know already, like it was common knowledge.

Noriko pulled the phone away from her ear again, gawking at it. What did this guy think he was—some kind of genie? First of all, this kind of claim was impossible. No one could answer any type of wish. Whether it was a prank or a publicity stunt, it was weird as hell. Or, with all this talk of granting wishes, maybe it was something a bit more salacious than that.

"U-um, sorry, but… this isn't one of those, uh… dirty-talk phone lines, is it?" she asked warily, her face reddening.

"Dirty talk?" he echoed, sounding utterly bewildered.

"Uh, n-never mind," she said quickly. She'd take that as a no, and she was more than a little relieved.

"Now, you found the card with my telephone number, did you not?" he asked, sounding a bit impatient. "I am a delivery god. Whatever your wish may be, whatever troubles you may be having, my assistance will be prompt, reliable, and affordable."

"So... you do delivery work? You're a handyman, right? And you'll do all of that for five yen?" she asked dubiously. Well, she'd figured out the delivery part already, so she'd been right to begin with after all. What a stupid prank this was! Why wasn't she hanging up yet?

"That is traditional, is it not?" the prankster remarked. "A five-yen offering for a god?"

Noriko scrunched up her nose at that. What was with this god talk? Was he some kind of a religious devotee? Maybe this was a charity hotline for a local shrine- a themed fundraiser with actors playing the roles of gods to spice things up. Or maybe he just had delusions of grandeur.

"W-well, yeah, that's what people do at shrines and all, but… isn't that too low for delivery work?" she insisted. "That is, if you're doing odd jobs for people, how could you make any money if you're only charging five yen?"

"I assure you, my services go far beyond mere deliveries," he replied stiffly, like she'd wounded his pride somehow. This whole thing was just surreal— his tone was entirely sincere, but none of this made any sense. It had the muddled confusion of a conversation within a dream, where the people talking meant every word they said, but the words themselves were gibberish.

"The type of work isn't the issue here! Whatever work you're doing, five yen isn't gonna cut it no matter how you look at the matter," Noriko protested. She knew she should just hang up. She should really hang up immediately. Arguing with this guy was obviously pointless. And yet, this whole thing offended her on a logical basis and she'd always been terrible at letting things go when they bothered her.

"A god ought to listen to his followers' voices rather than their money, wouldn't you agree? Money should not dictate whose wishes are given priority, is that not true?" he asked calmly.

"W-well, yeah, I guess so, but… we're just talking about handyman work here… aren't we?" Noriko asked, utterly confused. The weird guy remained silent for a moment, then spoke again.

"I shall ask again… what is your wish?" He still sounded entirely serious. If this was a prank, he was very dedicated to it. "What is it that you want?"

What did she want? That feeling of being watched pressed in around her again, closing in on her like a hand clenching into a fist. A wish, huh? No. That was nonsense. This entire thing was absurd!

"I… I don't actually have any wishes! At all. Ever. Sorry!" She jerked the phone from her ear and jabbed the End Call icon, her face as red as the little phone emblem under her fingertip. She stared at the phone, and then at the business card still gripped between her fingers. This time, she did toss that card in the recycling bin. She really was a fool sometimes!

That feeling of being watched came back, sharper this time, like it was prying into her. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and then rushed to her bedroom. What she really needed, maybe, was some exercise. It was past sunset already but this was a safe enough neighborhood, with plenty of streetlights, and she had a can of pepper spray anyway.

 _Maybe I can outrun this awful feeling,_ she thought wearily.

* * *

Golden-yellow eyes stared down, perplexed, at the Call Ended message on the phone's screen. She'd actually hung up on him. That had never happened before. Every human that called him had a wish to make. The only humans who saw his number were those that needed it, after all. People either called him or they didn't. They never hung up like that. If a human called him, there was always a reason for it— there was always something they needed, a wish to be answered, even if they weren't conscious of it themselves. And if the human didn't know the reason for their call, it usually amounted to just one thing: Ayakashi, a Phantom plaguing the human's thoughts and feeding off of their negativity.

Well, he was certainly becoming well-versed in answering calls about ayakashi. Tucking the phone into his pants pocket, he turned his eyes up to the sky. He sighed heavily and stood up from the bench he had been sitting on.

He hefted the katana that was leaning against the edge of the bench beside him. The weapon felt cold and leaden in his hand; it had none of the radiance of the sacred vessels. Picking up an aluminum bottle from the seat of the bench, he scrutinized it briefly, giving it a shake. The water within it sloshed faintly. He would've preferred to have more on hand, but there was no time to visit a shrine. Answering calls quickly was the key to building a reputation for reliability, according to Yato. There should be just enough water in there to handle this job. It would be a close call, though. Then again, his jobs always seemed to be that way. He tucked the bottle into his hooded sweatshirt.

Finding the human who'd called him would be an easy task, although she had given no location. Such was the power of a god, after all—even a washed-up god of calamity like himself. He slung the sheathed katana up onto his shoulder, glancing at the blue-black sky. Beyond the yellow glow of the streetlights, he could see a scattering of stars.

His yellow eyes narrowed and he tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword. The boundary between the Shores grew thin at dusk, and the nighttime harbored the dark creatures that wandered through. And here it was, already nighttime. The shadows were full of _strange_ things at this hour, and that always seemed to bring trouble his way... not that he wasn't used to it.

Eliminating problems with the edge of a blade—- that had always been his specialty, or so he'd been told.

* * *

Noriko dug in her closet, a deep frown embedded on her face. Reaching back, her frown faded just a little as she pulled out one particular item and nodded approvingly; this was _definitely_ an electric-blue jogging jacket kind of evening. She slipped it on and zipped it up, sticking her iPod into a little pouch on the upper left sleeve.

She wiggled into the matching pants and clipped on her jogging belt. Trotting to the front door, she slipped on her favorite lime-green running shoes and stepped out into the hallway, locking the door behind herself before she could change her mind.

There was a sharp chill to the air, typical of a night this early in the new year. It stung at her cheeks and Noriko jogged faster, putting an extra spring in her steps to warm herself up quicker.

The light, upbeat pop music swirling in through Noriko's earphones definitely helped lift her mood. A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth; this was a good shuffle, all her favorite songs kept coming up. She hummed along, out of sync and off-beat as she breathed in time with her strides. The cool, crisp air revitalized her with every inhale, chasing away her earlier gloom.

But as she jogged onward, the streets grew more and more quiet around her. It wasn't even that late, yet there was no one around her; perhaps the cold weather was keeping people indoors. Her breath fogged in front of her face as she ran, and she was beginning to wonder if she should've stayed home.

The night kept getting colder, and the shadows around her were deep and long of reach. Noriko's heart thumped in her chest and she kept her eyes firmly ahead of her. She wasn't going to start looking around. She was _not_ going to start peering into shadows and making herself nervous; that wasn't going to accomplish anything. _Just keep going,_ she told herself. She was already halfway through her usual jogging route by now. She'd be fine as long as she kept going. Yes, that's what she needed to do—to keep running and ignore the prickling at the back of her neck, like some strange and unseen hand was stretching its fingers out towards her—something _massive_ and sparkling with some terrible energy…

Noriko slowed, then stopped, fists clenched and trembling. The sweat cooling on her skin felt clammy now, as the winter chill seeped through her jacket. Something was behind her. She lifted her chin and took a deep breath, letting the cold, clean air fill her lungs. She'd been dealing with weird things since childhood. Noriko had long since taught herself to keep a level head whenever the "incidents" happened. This wasn't the first time she'd felt a presence like this and it wouldn't be the last… although, it had been years since she'd felt it this strongly.

 _Turn around,_ she told herself. If she turned to face this thing, whatever it was, it would probably fade away. That was usually how it worked, anyway. Those strange things, half-seen and half-unseen, it was like they avoided her line of sight. Or maybe they were beyond her sight, just barely. Either way, trying to glimpse these things seemed to hold them at bay. All she had to do was… turn around.

This one didn't fade away. It floated in the air, bloated and twisted and glowing a sickly purplish-black, like a bruise on reality itself. Rash-like blotches of red spattered its body and the writhing tentacles that lined its long belly. Its massive, wide-finned tail lashed from side to side as the fishlike mouth gaped open, exposing rows of bristling, needle-sharp teeth. From the top of its head rose a thin, curling tentacle with a bright light at its tip that glowed a malevolent shade of orange.

Noriko's dark green eyes fell on that light, drawn to its pulsating, roiling glow. It filled her whole field of vision, growing brighter and deeper, sinking into her skull and zinging along her optic nerves… The night faded away around her, and her body suddenly seemed so distant. She took a slow step towards it, she needed to get closer…

And then something grabbed the back of her jacket and pulled, hard. She cried out in shock as she went stumbling off her feet and hit the ground. A yelp of pain wrenched out of her as she struck the ground on her right side, her hip and shoulder taking the brunt of the blow. Something hissed through the air above her, where her head had been just a heartbeat before—it left a loud, sharp crackling in its wake.

"Do not gaze into the light." The deep, resonant voice that spoke snapped her back to her senses. She looked up as her senses came back, and she once again saw the monster looming before her; she shrieked and scrambled backwards on the ground, away from both the voice and the monster. She squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding so hard that it almost hurt.

"You would be wise to leave this place right away," the nearby voice told her gravely.

"I… can't…" she whispered. Her legs felt numb and rubbery. Her whole body quivered as she pressed her hands over her eyes. It had never been like this, none of her "incidents" had ever come close to this!

"Then stay where you are," the voice said, its tone stern. She heard the scuff of footsteps on pavement moving closer to her and she flinched away, but the footsteps went past her instead. She felt a slight whoosh of air as the stranger walked by. "Stay where you are, and do not move… and above all, do not look at the ayakashi."

"Ayakashi...?" she echoed, her voice barely a whisper.

The footsteps pounded away from her at a run—then she heard a high-pitched ringing, like a steel blade being drawn—a harsh yell cut through the air, and then a slicing noise and a wet, stomach-churning tearing sound, and an unearthly shriek that thundered in Noriko's ears—

She clamped her hands over her ears, hunching down and gritting her teeth. The horrible noises echoed around her, no matter how she tried to block it out. A hoarse shout, a chilling howl, the whistle and slice of a blade cutting through something… A voice—the same voice—rang out through the air, saying something almost like a chant, but the words were lost, muffled by her hands and the hammering of her pulse.

Once more, she heard the slice of a blade through flesh, and then a scream echoed through the night, shrill and terrible and _agonizingly_ loud, and a flash of red light lit up the insides of her eyelids—and then, silence. She huddled on the ground, hands still held to her ears. She didn't move so much as a muscle till the soft tread of footsteps reached her again.

"Miss," called the same voice. There was something oddly familiar about it, as if she'd heard it before… But she ignored the voice. Her hands were still clamped over her ears, her body still frozen in place. "Miss," repeated the voice, "The ayakashi is gone. You are safe now. Please open your eyes; you will not be harmed."

Noriko's hands faltered, pulling away from her ears just a little bit. Could she _really_ trust those words? Was the monster really gone and was she really safe? Either way, she couldn't sit there forever. She'd have to open her eyes sooner or later. Even if she was still in danger, sitting there wouldn't exactly help her.

Taking a shaky breath, she slowly lowered her hands and raised her head a little bit, opening one eyelid just a crack. The street before her was empty, the monster nowhere to be seen—and that feeling of being watched had disappeared. She let her breath out slowly, then lifted her head the rest of the way and opened her eyes fully. That was when she saw the man standing a couple paces away.

He sure as hell didn't _look_ like a monster-slayer, or anything of the sort. He stood with his hands tucked into the front pocket of his black hooded sweatshirt. The dark red fabric lining the inside of the hood contrasted starkly with his pale complexion.

"I apologize for handling you so roughly," he said, walking slowly closer to her. "The ayakashi was luring you in and I had to act quickly. It would have possessed you. That was not the moment for subtlety, I fear." He paused beside her and knelt down, extending a hand to her. Vivid yellow eyes regarded her solemnly through long, unruly waves of silver hair. "Are you hurt?"

Noriko stared, her mind drawing a blank. _Was_ she hurt? She didn't even know. This was absurd… this was all just completely wrong! What the hell was happening?! Her mind had been pushed far past its limit, and she did what anyone might do when faced with something beyond comprehension: she screamed at the top of her lungs.

She seized the little canister of pepper spray from its plastic holster on her belt, then whipped the can up and hit the trigger button with all her might. The man shouted and toppled backwards with a thump, and she hurled the can at him as hard as she could, then sprang to her feet and bolted away.

It wasn't until later that she would realize her iPod had fallen out of its pocket and yanked loose from the earphones jack, and was nowhere to be found.

* * *

He shouted and reeled back, losing his balance and landing ass-first on the ground. The plume of noxious spray blasted past him just inches from his left ear, and the can she flung struck him right in the forehead.

"Agh!" He clutched his face as his forehead stung from the hard aluminum and his eyes burned from the spray's fumes. The girl was on her feet and gone in a flash, racing off in a flat-out sprint. "W-wait! No!" he hollered hoarsely, stretching one hand after her, the other hand covering his face as his eyes watered profusely. "Don't go! You owe—" Too late, the sound of her footfalls had already faded into the distance and she was gone. "You owe me five yen," he finished forlornly.

He groaned and sprawled backwards onto the ground, both hands pressed to his stinging eyes. The sensation faded all too slowly. He took measured, deep breaths as he tried to recover himself. Finally, the pain subsided and he pushed himself up on his elbows, surprised by how winded he was.

After a moment, he hauled himself upright and climbed to his feet. His katana lay nearby, where he'd set it down after destroying the ayakashi—he hadn't wanted to alarm the girl by approaching her with a sword in hand. Not that it had done much good. He picked the sword up and examined it critically, frowning deeply. The cold steel glinted in the flickering light of the street lamps as they glowed overhead.

Glancing back at where the girl had been, he spotted a tiny, silvery shine on the pavement. He went over to it and squatted down; a little object sat there, rectangular and made of smooth metal. It was one of those strange music devices, he realized. It must have fallen out of the girl's pocket when she'd fallen. Picking it up, he tucked it into his pocket. Perhaps, if he found a chance to return it to her, she might give him the five yen as a show of gratitude.

Shaking his head, he strode a few paces away and picked up his aluminum water bottle, which he'd discarded during the fight. It was dented now, and empty. He'd have to visit a shrine soon and refill it with blessed water.

Eyeing the bottle and sword balefully, he sighed wearily. It was becoming increasingly difficult to slay ayakashi like this. Mortal-made blades simply weren't fit for the task, no matter how much blessed water he doused them with. And he hadn't even gotten paid for this job. Still, at least he hadn't been Blighted this time.

Even so, he had to find a shinki, and _soon_ … or else this was going to be a terribly brief reincarnation.


	2. Chapter 1

**Here we go, guys! Chapter 1! It's finally here! Are you hyped? I'm hyped. For those of you who might not have seen it, the Prologue has also been updated. There's no major changes, I just added a few things and did some fine-tuning. Still, I think it's an improvement!**

 **The prologue gave us a glimpse of what will come to pass, and now we return to the end of Season 1 to begin the path that will lead us there. I hope you all enjoy it.**

* * *

 **FIRST CHAPTER: A LIGHT IN THE FOG**

 **Four months ago**

The shrine of the former god of calamity Rabou stood in silence again, as it had for five hundred years. A fierce battle had raged there, hours earlier, but it was all over now—the victors had left, as had the stray shinki who had temporarily served a new master. The massive tree that had once dominated the heart of the place now lay broken, its severed trunk leaning against the slope of the crater that housed the shrine. The dust from its fall had settled already.

No birds sang in the trees outside the sunken lake, no animals ventured close to its rim. Even the small lake within the pit was nearly devoid of life, and the surface of the water barely moved. It was as if the shrine had already reverted to once again standing as a neglected memorial to the past.

And then, a tiny ripple disturbed the calm, glassy water in the center of the lake. Its rings spread outward as the surface roiled slowly, the ripples growing quickly until—

Water exploded upward in a frothy spray around the form of a man, sitting bolt upright from beneath the shallow lake. His arms thrashed in the churning water; he flung his head back, gasping for air. He slumped forward, hands braced against the cold, sharp gravel underneath him. It dug into the backs of his legs, but he hardly noticed. The sensation felt distant, detached. The water sloshed around him and he gazed down at it with an unseeing stare. The icy air whooshed in and out of his lungs in deep gasps as he tried to steady himself.

Slowly, slowly, his breathing calmed. His vision faded in and out, wavering and unfocused. When his eyes cleared, he gazed down at the water and at his own half-submerged body. His mind was clouded, and when the haze began to lift, just one thought emerged: _who am I?_

His yellow eyes fixated on the water that surrounded him. Its scent, its cloudy green-blue color, its coldness— it felt familiar, somehow. He craned his head up slowly, squinting against the fading light of sunset; dim though it was through the clouds above, it still felt entirely too bright.

He took in the sight of this strange place: the jagged stone slopes encircling the sunken lake, cracked and shattered in places; the low wooden bridge that crossed the span of the lake, parts of it lying in ruins; red-painted wooden gates, their name just out of reach in his memory, rising up out of the placid water; stone pillars carved with spirals, their details worn down by the ages.

Looking back over his shoulder, his gaze fell on an island hewn from stone. It towered over him in the mist, just as cold and silent as the water. Thick roots snaked down from a massive tree trunk at its peak, tangling around spiral-etched pillars like the ones in the lake. The fallen tree held his gaze, gripping something within his chest. Seeing its severed trunk felt… _wrong_ , somehow. All of this… it all felt so familiar, but why? Where was he?

He let his weary head drop forward. Thick, waterlogged strands of silver hair dangled into his peripheral vision, plastered to his face and neck and upper back. He lifted his hands and studied them, flexing their long fingers. He clenched his right hand into a fist and as he did, a sudden flash overtook him, an image that filled his mind's eye— this same fist, locked around the hilt of a katana, slicing through… Gasping, he unclenched his fingers and the vision passed as quickly as it had come.

Who was he, exactly? Why was he here? He turned his head again to look at that stone island. Perhaps there were answers to be found over there. He dragged his feet beneath himself and rose unsteadily, slowly—but his muscles failed him, his knees giving out, and he toppled into the water with a heavy splash. His head was spinning, and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

Taking a deep lungful of icy air, he all but dragged himself through the shallow water until he reached the broken bridge with its tall, red gates. A spar of shattered wood stuck out of the water, leaning up against the wreckage, and he leaned against it as he hauled himself upright. The chilled air stung at his bare skin and he wanted to cover himself with… what, exactly?

He rested against the wooden spar before taking a hesitant step forward. The cold gravel of the lakebed shifted under his feet and he swayed, reaching back to grab the spar again and steady himself. One painstaking step at a time, leaning on the bridge's supports, he trudged through the water to the shore of the island.

A few paces away from the shore, his foot snagged on something soft and dense beneath the water—something voluminous that swirled around his ankle and slowed his step. Carefully bending down, he reached in and grabbed a fistful; it was cloth. It was heavy with water as he hauled it up for a closer look. The fabric was a dark red garment of some kind, and it too felt oddly familiar. As he limped onward, he found more clothes drifting in the shallows—red pants, an off-white thing, a green sash belt, a black garment. They all looked just as familiar as the first one, but he had no idea what they were called. He dragged all of them to the shore with him; at least he could cover himself with these once they'd dried.

He stumbled slightly as he left the water, the gravel under his feet replaced with slick stone. He tilted his head back as he stood on the shore of the shrine; the steep, smooth cliffs of its two levels loomed high above him. Like lightning, another image shot through his mind, so quickly that he barely had time to register it: he felt himself standing before this same shrine, looking upward as he had just now, a rush of pain and power surging into his skull and scorching through his veins—

He reeled back, dropping the clothes and clapping a hand frantically to his left eye. His entire body trembled from the sense of… what was it? What had happened? He carefully brushed his fingertips over his left eyelid, and then the right; they felt the same. But something had been different before… hadn't it? What was this sense, then, of something vast and terrible swirling into his head through this same left eye? As he glanced around, his skin suddenly pricking with a chill that seemed entirely different from the wintry air. He craned his head up, gazing at the fallen tree and its thick roots, snaking over the stone, reaching down towards him from the top of the island. The tree… he had to go to it.

The stairs to the island's peak were smooth and slippery, worn down over the ages. He climbed them one by one, running his free hand along the wall beside him. His legs shook from the effort as he stumbled off the top step, finally standing before the tree stump. The enormous roots crisscrossed over the stone at his feet and he had to climb over them to reach the stump. The remains of a thick, braided cord lay on the ground before it, severed in half just like the tree. The close-up sight of the ruined tree sent some kind of terrible ache through his bones, as if he were seeing the remains of his own body. What was this place to him—or what was he to it?

He spread the sodden clothes out on the stone, draped over the roots, and lowered himself to the ground, leaning back against the tree stump in between two of the thickest roots. The rough bark dug into his skin and the stone underneath his backside was as frigid as ice. He shuddered, but he couldn't muster the energy to move. His body felt as heavy as the stone itself. He let his head fall back against the tree stump and his eyes closed. He would rest while the clothes dried.

As he slept, his mind reeled with unsettling images, but above all, two things dominated his dreams: gleaming, bright blue eyes and the metallic stench of blood.

When he awoke later, the sun was setting once more; a vivid, red-orange glow filtered through the clouds, casting an eerie light over the mysterious lake and its stone island. He sat up, his neck and back stiff from resting against the tree stump for so long. Wincing and rubbing the back of his neck, he realized that his hair had dried. Shuffling forward on his hands and knees, he reached out and felt the clothes he had laid out earlier; they, too, had dried.

Hauling himself to his feet, he gathered up the clothes and examined them. After a bit of trial and error, he was fairly certain he'd put them on in the right order. The way he'd put them on felt right, somehow. The fabric was chilly and stiff, but it was still a relief from the biting air and icy stone. He shuffled his feet on the ground; was he supposed to be barefoot? Regardless, he had no idea if there had been anything for his feet to go along with these clothes, wherever they had come from. He wasn't about to go digging around in the lake to find out.

Straightening up, he took a long look around the crater, wondering what he ought to do next. There, on the opposite side, something caught his eye; across the lake, he spied the mouth of a tunnel. It gaped black and empty, a void into the base of the mountains that rose up beyond the lake. The peaks of the mountains were hazy and dark in the fog.

Well, whatever that tunnel led to, it couldn't be any worse than staying where he was. Slowly, he made his way down the worn-down stone steps and clambered down between the broken planks of the bridge, back down to the shore of the island. Rather than trying to cross the bridge, he chose to follow the exposed stone shoreline that bordered the lake.

At last, he had reached the other shore, and the mountains that butted up against the side of the sunken lake. The mouth of the huge tunnel stood before him, plunging straight through the mountain. He could see no light within the depths of that inky blackness, and not even a breeze disturbed the silence of it. The darkness sent a fresh chill through him, and more fleeting images raced through his mind—grotesque eyes in the night that sought him out, strange creatures that reached for him… _smells good_ , their voices hissed…

Once again, he found his hand rising instinctively up to his left eye. He put his hand down at his side and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the thoughts away. Opening his eyes once more, he regarded the tunnel again. Well, he could either stand there forever or he could see what lay beyond that vast darkness.

He started towards the tunnel, but something made him pause and turn around for just a second. He could have sworn he felt something pulling him back, almost. He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the strange place he was leaving behind. It sat silently, and it seemed to look back at him. Scowling, he turned away and stepped into the tunnel, his footfalls barely making a whisper.

Whatever this place was, it clearly didn't hold any answers for the questions plaguing him. Perhaps the world beyond it would.

* * *

The mountainous forest beyond the tunnel seemed to be endless—its dark branches arched and twisted above his head as he made his halting way over the soft, black soil. Roots snagged at his toes, making him stumble; leaves brushed against his skin, dry and scratchy, and twigs jabbed at the soles of his feet. The trees towered over him as he made his way up the slope of a hill. Far in the distance he could see the top of the hill, the lower slope of a much higher mountain off to the side.

High overhead, he could see birds flitting above the treetops, yet the forest stood silent as he passed by. Even when he could hear the chirping and chatter of birds ahead of him in the distance, silence met him once he reached the place where the birds ought to have been.

He could only hear them sometimes, anyway— his senses faded in and out as he wandered. Thoughts and images darted through his mind as swiftly as those birds up above; and they vanished when he strained to grasp them, just as elusively as the birds that seemed to disappear from his path as he approached them. His vision wavered, and a low, hazy roaring rose and retreated endlessly in his ears.

In the depths of nighttime, his knees gave way and he pitched sideways, slumping against the rough bark of a tree trunk as another image overwhelmed him—a pink scarf, soft in his harsh grip, and fearful magenta eyes; a furious yell, ragged with an edge of panic, and the glint of sword blades; and then a deep, tearing pain in his head, the sensation of something being ripped out of him—

He groaned and his hand shook as he clutched it to his left eye, sliding down the tree trunk till he slouched on the ground. That side of his face felt just the same as the right side—nothing was different between the two, so why did he keep reaching for it? What was he expecting to find? Or… what had been there before? He let his hand fall from his face and pushed himself to his feet again. This forest felt too strange to linger within it. These trees felt like the sunken lake he had left behind; something ancient was soaked into the fiber of this place.

He couldn't have said how far he walked. The sun rose and crossed the sky once more. Eventually, he came to the crest of the hill and crossed it to the downward slope—a welcome relief from the strain of the long uphill walk.

As the sun set, he crossed a stream and paused to drink from it; his stomach felt hollow, but he couldn't even think of what he was supposed to eat, let alone how to go about getting it. Pausing, he realized he could see his reflection in the water and he peered down at himself. His face was pallid and smeared with streaks of dirt, but the golden-yellow eyes that stared back at him were no different from each other. As he studied his reflection, though, the ringing filled his ears again and his sight grew foggy; for just a second, his reflection's left eye turned hollow and black, with a sickly red glow emanating from the center of it— he flung himself back from the stream, a choked shout catching in his throat.

When the ringing subsided, he climbed to his knees and dared to peer into the stream, but all he saw was the same pair of yellow eyes looking back this time. Drawing a faltering breath, he clambered upright again. He left the stream behind and pushed onward.

As he trudged along and sunset faded to night, he could sense those grasping things in the dark. _Smells good_ , they cackled. He walked through the night, his progress slow and shaky, but never once stopping for more than a moment or two.

* * *

Another day later, as dawn came and the sun rose ahead of him, the leaves and soil disappeared from beneath his feet. He stumbled out of the trees and onto something that felt hard and rough beneath his aching soles, something black that stretched in a wide belt into the distance on either side of him. He knelt down and ran his fingertips across its bumpy surface. When he pulled his hand back and brought it to his face, it carried a sharp, oily scent with it. The smell was something he couldn't place, but the winding shape of this thing brought another vision with it—a wide path of tan dirt, rolling across the hills like this one did, with creatures guided along them by their riders… the name of the beasts escaped him, but he could hear an echo of their thudding, rhythmic tread. He could remember their silky coats and their plumed tails and their snorting breaths. Had he ridden them? He felt a distant echo of the wind whipping at his face and hair.

Shaking his head, he stood up once more and looked in both directions. Should he follow this winding thing? Which way should he go? Neither direction held any kind of familiarity or intuitive hints, so he picked one and set off, following the path down a gently sloping hill.

The sun rose higher and higher above him, and each step grew more difficult than the one before it. His eyes kept blurring, but now, it wasn't accompanied by visions—not every time, anyway. He stumbled more and more often… and at last, there came a time when his knees buckled and he couldn't drag himself up again. His entire body felt distant and hollow now, and all he could do was gaze up at the bright blue sky and wonder if this was as far as he would go.

Time passed in a blur as he lay there, until he felt a distant rumbling through the hard ground beneath him. A low roar came with it, growing louder and closer until it reverberated in his ears—but then it quieted and suddenly stopped, and a shadow loomed over him, blotting out the sun above him. A dark shape filled his sight; its features were vague as it leaned over him, and he felt hands on his shoulders.

A voice was asking him something—it sounded upset. He wanted to say something to them… what was he to say? He couldn't have made his mouth move, even if he had known what words to use. The blurry world faded out to black. When he came to again, barely conscious, he could see enough to know he wasn't on that path anymore. He was in an utterly unknown space, its walls gray and rigid, but he felt movement, and he could see people around him, perhaps two or three—urgent voices spoke in low tones around him, firm hands maneuvering him, something sharp pricking at his wrist…

* * *

The next time his eyes opened, an expanse of pale blue stretched over him—but it wasn't the sky. He felt something soft beneath him and draped over his body, something cushioning his head…

Slowly, the world swam into focus. Off-white walls stood around him and a strange smell invaded his senses, as if the air had been scrubbed clean. He was resting on a bed; glancing down, he could see clean, white linens. His vision flickered again and he saw a different room for the span of a heartbeat—a much more dimly lit room, with a thin mattress on the dirt floor and rough blankets over it…

He registered a faint beeping nearby and a twinge in his right wrist. It took all of his effort to crane his head down; looking down the length of his arm, resting at his side on top of the linens, his gaze landed on the thin tube that attached to the outer side of his wrist. Something thin and sharp jutted under his skin and attached to the tube. Following its path, he looked up to a clear bag on a tall pole above him.

Some vague concern registered in his hazy thoughts. Should he know what this place was? Should he be worried that this thing was in his arm? He dragged his left arm up from his side and reached across his body to the thing on his wrist, mustering the strength to pull on it lightly. Pain lanced through his wrist and he winced as the thing tugged at his skin. He let go and dropped his left arm back to his side.

He wasn't even aware that he'd fallen unconscious again until a clicking sound woke him. Cracking his eyes open, he saw a door swing open across the room, and a man in a strange, plain white garment came in. The man had a balding head and something on his face, something metal and clear that perched on his nose and shielded his eyes. They glinted in the bright lights as the man looked up and smiled at him.

"Ah, finally awake, I see," the man remarked. "Good morning! I'm Dr. Mori. Can you please tell me your name? We weren't able to get one from you before."

His throat worked as he tried to come up with an answer, but nothing reached his mouth. The man called Mori cleared his throat and took a few slow paces towards the bed.

"That's fine, that's fine. Don't stress yourself, now," he said gently. Dr. Mori shuffled some papers in his hand, clamped to a board of some kind, and studied them. "Now, you're quite lucky! That family found you on the road, unconscious. Do you remember why you were there? Or how you got there?" Mori glanced at him again, but he had no answers. He couldn't make his mouth move, even if he had known what to say.

The white-draped man cleared his throat again and flipped through the papers. Mori said more things—but very little of it made sense. He could understand the words, but their meanings eluded him. Disorientation, no dehydration, normal vital signs, no concussion…

What he did understand, though, was that this doctor seemed confused. Mori didn't seem to understand his condition any more than he did himself. In fact, he seemed quite uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot, clearing his throat often and flipping repeatedly through his papers. Eventually, the man with the papers told him that he could leave; there was more talk that he couldn't quite understand—insurance cards, homeless, waived…

"Is there… anyone who can come and get you?" Dr. Mori asked, his forehead furrowing in apparent concern. Well, if there was, he certainly couldn't think of who they were, so he shook his head. The doctor sighed and ran a hand over his thin hair. "There isn't much I can do to help you, I'm afraid. There is a shelter not too far from here—we may be able to arrange transportation for you, if you would like to—"

But he shook his head again. He wasn't sure what kind of shelter this was, although the word rang familiar and brought to mind images of a warm place, a safe place. But whatever it was, he didn't think he was likely to find answers there. What he needed was… what he should seek out was… he could almost remember it…

Another flash flitted through his mind—gleaming blue eyes again, framed by dark indigo hair. Those eyes… if he could find that person, could they hold the answers he needed? He could almost hear their voice in his head, snarling his name—what was his name? His blood surged with this new possibility. If he could just find the one with blue eyes, perhaps he'd at least learn his own name.

The doctor edged closer to the bed and cautiously took the sharp thing away from his wrist, then gave him back his clothes; someone had taken them away and put him in a papery, white robe, and he was glad to be rid of it. The clothes he had found in that silent place were at least familiar to him. He could scarcely remember leaving the room, but he found himself standing outside under a cloudless blue sky. Turning back, he glanced up at the building behind it. It was massive, towering into the sky, and broader than anything he had seen, and its walls were a plain off-white color. Tall buildings stood all around it, lining the black road that stretched out to both sides. More roads joined and crossed it in the distance. All of it looked familiar somehow, as if he had seen this not too long ago, but at the same time this place felt entirely foreign. The shining things zipping past, the throngs of people in sleek clothes hurrying by on foot… it made his head spin even more.

He set out on foot, winding his way through the crowds. People strode past him, and many of them veered slightly to move out of his way, but none looked at him. In fact, many of them seemed to look right past him, or even through him, as if he wasn't there. Chalking it up to yet another unanswered thing, he kept moving.

He couldn't have said how long he wandered the streets—time ebbed and flowed unevenly for him. Night fell and daybreak came again, and he stopped only to rest in a secluded spot behind a building for a few hours during the night. He had no idea where he was going, of course, but he found himself arriving at places that felt like the silent lake—not quite the same, though. These places felt alive, just as much as the silent place had felt dead. They thrummed with energy, echoed with the voices of those who came to pay their respects.

 _Shrines._ That word popped into his head as he leaned against the gate at the entrance of one such place. That silent place… that was a shrine too, wasn't it? These places belonged to those who were… gods.

He shuddered, suddenly feeling even more unsettled, and he turned to go—but as he did, he found his way blocked by a child. She stared up at him with wide, brown eyes, and that was enough to confuse him yet again. This was the first person since that Mori man to notice his presence. She wore a colorful and delicately embroidered garment, wrapped around her little frame… a yukata?

The girl took a step back and turned her head, cupping her tiny hands around her mouth. "Lady Bishamon!" she called. Why was that name familiar? The air shifted behind him and he spun on his heel, braced for… he didn't even know what, but his pulse had started pounding at the unknown presence at his back.

The sight of a tall woman met his eyes; she was shorter than him, but not by very much, and with her chin lifted so imperiously, he suddenly felt much smaller. Her vivid purple eyes almost glowed in the sunlight and the long, golden hair flowing down her back gleamed brightly. She wore sleek, fitted black clothes like many of the people on the streets had, but she was clearly not one of them. None of those people had radiated the power she had.

A slim, brown-haired man stood with her, wearing the same glass-and-metal thing on his face as the Mori man. This man hovered just to the right of her and slightly behind. He was… the word escaped him, but he could almost see the sacred bonds that held the slim man to this woman, and he could almost put a name to it.

"Who are you, and why have you come to my shrine uninvited?" the woman asked calmly. He opened his mouth, his throat straining, but again nothing came. Her eyes narrowed then, and she dropped her chin. "No, I remember. You're a god of calamity, are you not? The god Rabou."

He sucked in a sharp breath and stepped back as that name lanced through him, freezing his blood. The name, the silent place, the massive tree rooted to ancient rocks, the gleaming blue eyes, the furious voice, a sword in his grasp and blood on his face—they all surged through his mind again, all at once and all together. His mouth opened again and this time, words came in a harsh whisper.

"…Am I?" he rasped.

"You don't know?" the woman asked. But then she tilted her head and tapped a fingertip to her chin, her eyes distant for a moment. When she looked back at him, her eyes pierced right through him. "Come with me."

Rabou could barely feel his own footsteps as she led him into the shrine. This woman knew his name… why? How did she know what even he did not? Was it really his name? What was a god of calamity? That name and that phrase felt familiar, somehow, just as the blue eyes in his vision did. This woman, she was familiar too—her face, her voice, and the indefinable strength that emanated from her.

She led him through cool, airy halls and into a lush garden bursting with flowers of all colors and shapes. The woman strode to an intricately carved stone bench and gracefully sank onto it, but she did not bid him to sit on the second bench beside it, so he remained standing. Under her harsh stare, he became keenly aware of the worn state of his clothes and the sweat and grime coating his skin. He wasn't sure why that mattered, but he was uncomfortable all of a sudden.

He could feel the brown-haired man's eyes on him; the smaller man stayed behind the woman, but did not take his green-eyed stare off of their visitor. _Shinki_. That was the word, wasn't it? The ones who stood as the brown-haired man did, close behind and waiting silently… sacred ones, the blessed bond… yes, that was it.

The woman crossed her legs at the ankle, hands clasped loosely on her lap. "To the best of my knowledge," she began, "You are a god of calamity—Rabou. Do you not remember that?"

He stared down at his hands, the sense memory of a weapon in his grip coming back again. Yes… that name belonged to him. Rabou looked back at her. "I am, but I don't remember," he said hoarsely. "You… do you know me? Do you know what happened to me?"

"I might. Do you have any memories at all?" she asked, tilting her head.

"I can see—blue eyes," Rabou muttered. "An angry voice, I can hear its echo in my head… The one with blue eyes, do you…?"

Her shoulders stiffened and she drew herself up, her back straight as a rod.

"Yes," she said, her voice low. "I know the one with blue eyes."

"Who is he, then?" Rabou asked urgently.

"He is an enemy of mine," she replied pointedly. The brown-haired shinki broke his stare, glancing away from Rabou for a brief moment. The woman spoke again, her voice as calm as it had been before. "I'm assuming you don't remember who I am?" Rabou shook his head and she continued, "I am Bishamon, one of the seven gods of fortune. In the old times, our paths would cross once in a great while. It's been many ages since I last heard your name spoken by human voices—five centuries at least, isn't that so? I'll assume that you don't remember much from those days, either."

"Clearly not," Rabou said sharply. She narrowed her eyes at him and he glanced away, sensing that he had gone too far in some way.

"It's strange," she murmured. "It's possible that you have been reincarnated—it would explain the loss of your memories. Do you know what I mean when I say that word, reincarnation?"

Rabou paused, considering it. This was another word that felt familiar in his ears. "It is… a beginning," he muttered. "But not the first beginning…"

Bishamon nodded, "It's when a god is reborn after death. However, hmm… it doesn't make sense. What is the first clear memory in your mind right now?"

He tilted his head back, gazing up at the cloudless blue sky. "I remember… the silent place, the shrine. The fallen tree and the still water. I awoke in that place, not even knowing my own name."

"When did this happen?" Bishamon asked, frowning.

"It was only a few days ago," Rabou murmured.

"A few days?" the goddess echoed, her delicate eyebrows arching. "Then if you did reincarnate, it was recent. And that is what makes it so strange—when a god is reborn, they begin again in the form of a child, and yet you look no different now than you did all those ages ago, when we last crossed swords. How is it that you have been reborn like this?"

"If I knew that answer, I would have no need to wander so," he retorted. This was getting him nowhere, and he wanted whatever answers she was withholding. The shinki shot him a sharp glance, eyes flashing behind the little glass panes, but Bishamon simply regarded him coolly. But now he intended to ask a question, and he held her eye as he asked, "What do you know of the blue-eyed one? What connection does that one have to me?"

Bishamon's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her head inclining imperiously. "In those days, five centuries ago, there was another god of calamity—one with blue eyes. I do know that you and he often fought side by side in those times. His name is Yatogami."

That name jolted in his mind, and suddenly he could picture the younger god's face—the indigo hair, the wide-eyed innocence at odds with the blood on his hands. The image of a battlefield appeared in his memories, strewn with the bodies of fallen soldiers, splashed with red.

"Yatogami," Rabou murmured. Glancing back at Bishamon again, he said, "Then, he knows who I am? He could tell me?"

"Yes," the goddess said, lips pressing together. "He still remains even today, although the means of his survival is a mystery to me."

Rabou tilted his head at the enmity in her voice, wondering at the unspoken history in it. "What is it that Yatogami did to earn such scorn?" he asked.

Her chin jerked upward, and the air suddenly felt charged between them. "And why should I tell you that? It's not your question to ask," she said icily. "Perhaps _he_ will tell the story to you."

Rabou rocked back on his heels slightly and a chill ran through him, as if a cold hand had pushed against his chest all of a sudden. The strength radiated off of her like a physical force. He was suddenly very aware that there was a sharp difference between her power and his. They were of the same kind, he could sense that much, but not of the same level.

"Tell me where I might find Yatogami," Rabou urged. "If he knows of my past, then I must speak to him."

"If I knew where he was, I would have slain him already," Bishamon replied shortly. "However, I know that he is an associate of a certain goddess. Calamity and poverty… seek out the god of poverty known as Kofuku Ebisu and you may find him."

The shinki stepped around her and approached him, gesturing for Rabou to follow him, and Rabou realized he had been dismissed. As he turned to follow the shinki out of the garden, Bishamon spoke again.

"Do not return to my shrine again without an invitation, god of calamity," she said coldly. "I told you what I know as a kindness to a fellow god, but associates of Yatogami are not welcome in my presence. My compassion ends here."

Rabou nodded slowly, mystified by her animosity. He followed the shinki out of the garden, feeling Bishamon's stare drill into his back as he went. A fellow god… so they were of the same kind, as he'd guessed. Although that still didn't explain what a god was, or what a god of calamity was. Nor did it explain the disdain with which she'd said those words.

The brown-haired man led him silently through the halls of the shrine, staring directly ahead, never wavering. Rabou considered the way he'd averted his eyes when Bishamon had referred to Yatogami as her enemy; it was the only time that his stare had faltered. Could it be that he knew as much as she did? What if this shinki could tell him what he wanted to know?

"Do you know me?" Rabou asked him urgently. The shinki didn't even glance back at him. He tried again, asking, "Do you know this Yatogami? Will you tell me where I may find him?"

"My lady has already told you what you need to know— you might be able to find him with the god of poverty," the shinki replied evenly.

"But where would that be?" Rabou pushed. Here was a possibility to get answers, and he knew he would lose that chance once they reached the entrance of the shrine. He walked a bit faster so he could try to catch the shinki's eye. "What is a god of calamity? Why do I remember so much blood? Please, tell me whatever you can!"

The shinki stopped in his tracks, but he still didn't look at Rabou. He stayed silent for a moment, then he said, "I don't know you, but I do remember hearing of you from those days. You were a human who became a god. In those times, you and Yatogami fulfilled wishes from humans— bloodstained and malicious wishes that no other god would touch. _That_ is a god of calamity."

Rabou stared at him, taken aback. Bloodstained and malicious wishes? A human who became a god? The tactile memory of a sword in his hands came back to him again, along with Yatogami's rage-filled blue eyes. Was that really who he had been, before this reincarnation? A god of calamity… the name stirred something up, an urgent feeling, the sense that he needed to do something - and soon.

 _Rabou-sama, hear my prayer… please, make him vanish!_

The words struck him suddenly, lancing into his thoughts, and he knew they hadn't come from his own mind. He felt a sudden unease, and his fingers twitched, as if to reach for something that wasn't there. He knew those words, he had heard them before— maybe not exactly the same, but with the same emotion behind them. And he had done something about it in the past— there was something he was supposed to do now. These words, they were…

He felt the shinki's stare upon him and glanced up, only to see the man's green eyes studying him intently.

"If you're hungry, you might want to go to a certain place for some very good oden. It's the right time of year for it, after all," he said offhandedly. Pulling a paper and a pen from his pocket, he wrote something down and handed the paper to Rabou. He took the paper and stared at it; the characters scratched onto it were almost recognizable to him, and he squinted at it as he tried to decipher it.

"Go to that address. The food there is excellent, you really should try it out. Give my regards to the boss— you'll know her when you see her, she's a sweet but clumsy girl with pink hair," the shinki told him calmly. For a moment, Rabou wondered why he was suddenly so insistent on this… and then he grasped the message that the shinki was trying to give him.

"Thank you," he murmured, gripping the paper. If he couldn't decipher what it said, perhaps one of the passersby on the street would look at it and tell him.

"There is no need to thank me," the shinki said levelly. "I haven't told you anything that my lady wouldn't have. I've simply recommended a good place for a snack. What you may find there is beyond my control. However, this search is your business and yours alone. It's to everyone's benefit that it stays that way."

Rabou knew that there was a reason for the shinki's odd behavior, but of course, he couldn't remember what that was. He nodded and turned to go, but the shinki spoke up one last time.

"You should know that he's not the same now as he was back then," the shinki remarked. "You and he fought recently. I don't know why it happened, but he might not be happy to see you, if you should happen to find him."

Rabou paused as he took this in, but all he did was nod in reply. He had no idea what to say to that. Was it good or bad that Yatogami had changed? And now he had a new question to consider: why had he fought with Yatogami?

Clutching the paper in his fist, he set off at a fast walk until he emerged into the shrine's front courtyard again. He had a destination now, and as the shrine shrank in the distance behind him, he walked with a fresh sense of purpose.

* * *

The home of the Poverty God was quite a distance from Bishamon's domain, and as he drew close to it, he held back from approaching it quite yet. The shinki's warning about the fight rang in his ears; what would the blue-eyed god do upon discovering him here?

The place that the shinki had directed him to looked nothing like Bishamon's shrine, nor his own. It looked like… there was no name that he could summon for it, but it brought back fragments of memories—steaming bowls of noodles on cold, rainy days, warm broth, the rich taste of meat. He could smell a savory aroma drifting through the air, even at this distance. The shinki had mentioned something called oden, and he wondered if that was what he smelled.

He settled himself behind some bushes just down the path from the place, resolving to wait until the god Yatogami appeared. Rabou could only assume that he would know this god when he saw him. All he could do was wait for his chance.

As the sun crossed the sky overhead, Rabou didn't budge from his hiding place. His legs started to get sore after a while, but he stayed where he was—legs crossed, back straight, hands resting on his knees. The sun sank behind the tall buildings in the distance, and as the air grew cold around him, he began to wonder just how long he'd be waiting there—not that he had anyplace else to go.

Rabou reflected on the shinki's words as he waited there. Calamity, bloodstained wishes… was he still like that? Was Yatogami still like that? The shinki said that Yatogami had changed. Rabou wondered if he had changed, as well. Would he even be aware of it, if he had?

With the moon rising and the stars beginning to shine, a sense of surging energy radiated to him from further down the path. Rabou, his mind wandering through shards of the past, snapped to attention and he lifted his head. He leaned forward, peering through a gap in the leaves. His eyes strained to catch a glimpse of the figure making its way down the brightly-lit walkway. At this distance, he couldn't see the color of the person's eyes— but he could make out dark hair and a slender build.

Recognition struck him, and it was all he could do to stay in place. He could feel the energy rolling off from that person. Even at this distance, it was strong and clear; it was weaker than Bishamon's energy, but it was of the same type, he was certain of that. And he could hear that person's voice, too; the words were indistinct but the enthusiastic cadence and proud tone carried clearly to his hiding place.

Rabou sat closer to the leaves, his face pressed to the foliage. There were two others along with the one in the middle—a small boy with blond hair and a girl with long, brown hair. A most peculiar radiance spread from the girl, something that felt out of place and ill-natured…Those two didn't concern him, though. He knew now that Bishamon's shinki had directed him to the right place. He remembered that voice from ages past.

He instinctively jolted forward and reached out—and his hand struck the leaves, rustling them. The dark-haired one stopped suddenly, falling silent, and the other two stopped as well, looking at their companion. He was looking directly at Rabou's hiding place, and in the sudden silence, Rabou could just barely hear what the dark-haired god said.

* * *

Yato stopped walking and squinted at the shrubs further down the path towards Kofuku's place.

"Hey. Hold on… someone's here," he cautioned. Yukine and Hiyori stopped in their tracks beside him, squinting at the bushes in the harsh glow of the lampposts.

The noise he'd heard just now was faint, like really tiny, but it had alerted him to the presence of a god in those bushes. He could feel their presence as clearly as could be. Why there was a god hiding in some bushes was beyond him; he'd certainly never done anything like that. Not at all, never. Not even once, and _definitely_ not more than once.

The thing was, he'd been so busy regaling Hiyori with the tale of the latest Phantom that he and his best-ever shinki Yukine had oh so gallantly slain (and in _such_ a bad-ass way, too) that he hadn't even felt the presence at first. But now he felt it and he kind of wished he hadn't, because he was kind of tired and he didn't want to deal with this. They were still cleaning up the Phantoms that had spawned during his fights with Rabou a few days ago and it had been a long week already. He wanted to go inside and drink a beer or two and have a few laughs with Kofuku. But with Bishamon chasing after him lately, and after the thing with Rabou, he wasn't about to take any chances.

"Better not be another Phantom," Yukine groaned. "There's been tons of 'em today already! Your hands were super sweaty on the last one, too."

Yato gasped and clutched his chest, staring in shock at Yukine. "How could you say that?! My own son…"

"You old weirdo!" Yukine growled. "I'm not your—"

"Um… isn't there still someone hiding over there?" Hiyori cut in pointedly. Ah, trust Hiyori to always get to the important stuff! She was right, as usual (not that he was ever wrong, of course, being a god and all).

Yato stared at those bushes again. Maybe luck was on his side tonight and it was just Kofuku trying to play a joke on him. But he knew it wasn't, of course, because it didn't _feel_ like her. He'd known her for, like, such a long time—he knew what her presence felt like. She had a hard time sneaking up on him these days.

Whoever was in there must've known that they'd been spotted, because the bushes rustled and someone rose up out of them. It was dark and the person was far outside the pool of light from the nearest streetlamp, but Yato was a god and all, so seeing in the dark was no problem. He could see that the person wore loose, billowy clothes that were clearly outdated. As in, outdated by several centuries. And he saw long, silver-white hair.

Yato froze, rooted to the spot and suddenly feeling cold. _No… no way!_ _There's no way it could possibly be—!_

"W-what the—" Yukine sputtered, and Yato felt the chill that shot through the boy. Hiyori shrank back, drawing a little closer to Yato; he couldn't even enjoy that, though, because he was too busy being extremely confused and freaking out a little. He had to be wrong about this, there was no way it could be…

The strange figure shuffled unsteadily towards them, and as the person limped into the pool of light from the nearest lamppost, Yato's jaw dropped.

"Wh—wha…" he sputtered. " _What the fuck?!_ " Because that was definitely Rabou, back from the dead… _again_.

* * *

 **HAHAHAHAHA yeah, Yato wasn't expecting that. Sorry, Yato. To be fair, Rabou wasn't expecting this either! So yeah, that's our chapter. I'd love to hear some opinions from those of you who are reading this! Even if it's just a few words, I'm genuinely curious to know what people think of this fanfic so far. Questions, critiques, things you liked? Please throw your comments right at my face. See you in Chapter 2!**

 **Sophie: Friend! I'm glad you saw the update I posted. I totally agree (well, obviously, LOL). I really wish they'd made an entire season out of Rabou's storyline. Or at the very least, I wish they'd given Rabou half a season instead of just, like… three episodes. But like honestly, that's my number one weakness in fandom, LMAO. Give me a minor character with a few tantalizing hints of backstory, leave me hanging with unanswered questions, and I get totally hooked, oops. If you look at my other fanfics, they're almost all minor characters. :') Have you seen the two-chapter prequel comic that came out with the DVDs? Good stuff, man, quality content. Provides slightly more information than the anime did!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hello and welcome back! In this chapter: Yato is angry a lot, Rabou is confused a lot, and Kofuku is… Kofuku. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **SECOND CHAPTER: ALIVE AGAIN**

"Come! Sekki!" Yato snapped; he didn't take his eyes off of Rabou for even one second as Sekki flew to his waiting hand. He clutched the cloth-wrapped grip of the blade, pointing the business end of it right at Rabou.

"You are Yatogami, are you not?" Rabou asked, his tone oddly urgent.

Yato snorted. "Not this bullshit again. Don't tell me you're gonna go off on another boring-ass rant about gods of calamity. We settled this already! I'm done with that stuff, go find a new buddy to chop people up with!"

All Rabou did was stare owlishly at him, as if he didn't understand what Yato was saying. But Yato wasn't about to forget what this asshole had done—he couldn't forget the sight of Rabou's fist gripping Hiyori's scarf, or the fragile sphere of her memories in his grasp, and the cold grin on his face right before he'd turned and hurled it away—and the sight of that shimmering purple orb shattering just inches above the safety of Yato's hand… How could he ever forgive any of that? Yato tightened his grip on Sekki, seething.

"But you _are_ Yatogami, aren't you? Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?!" Rabou asked again. He sounded almost frantic.

"Enough already, you bastard!" Yato snapped. "After everything that happened, you really wanna do this again? How many times do I have to cut you down, huh? Is the Stray still here, too?!"

Rabou hesitated. "Stray?" he echoed.

Hiyori edged even closer to Yato, till her shoulder brushed his arm. He felt her fingers tug at his sleeve. "Hey, something's strange about this, isn't it?" she whispered uneasily.

Yato's scowl deepened even more. "Yeah, it's weird, all right," he muttered. "We watched him crumble into dust, how the hell did he come back again?!"

"Y-yeah, but… doesn't this seem different somehow?" she asked. He paused, glancing at her. Sometimes he forgot about the half-Phantom thing; she had such a strong connection to the Far Shore now. It wouldn't be surprising if she could sense things normal humans couldn't. But she was right, there _was_ something off about this, something indefinable that was different than before. Yato didn't really care, though. Whatever it was, it was probably a trick of some kind.

He took a step towards Rabou, raising Sekki. "Sorry, but I'm gonna put an end to this quickly. Whatever this is, it can't be anything good. You ready, Sekki?" Yato said, his tone low.

 _Yeah,_ Yukine said grimly in his head.

Hefting the blade high, he charged at Rabou with the most bad-ass yell he could manage—which, under any other circumstances, he would've graciously admitted was a pretty high level of bad-ass.

Leaping high into the air, he hurtled towards Rabou with Sekki primed to wreck his shit—this was gonna be a one-hit takedown, he'd make sure of it! Rabou didn't budge, didn't reach for a hidden weapon or call for a shinki… but then again, he'd always been a showoff anyway. This bastard was gonna do something at the very last second—

Except Yato was mere feet away now and closing in fast, and Rabou was still just staring up at him with that lost, wide-eyed look, and…

 _Yato, wait!_ Yukine blurted, and Yato realized it at the same instant that his shinki did. Swearing, Yato pulled Sekki back and his feet hit the dirt, skidding to a stop—with the razor-sharp edge of Sekki's blade a hair's-breadth from Rabou's forehead. The god's silver hair fluttered away from his face with the breeze from Yato's momentum.

The two gods stood there, frozen. Yato's jaw clenched as he stared at Rabou… and he saw two normal, not-possessed eyes gazing back. This… this was not the empty husk that had fought him days ago. This wasn't a spirit vessel, this wasn't a god-zombie held together with a Stray's curses. This person before him now was a god made whole, fully fledged and exactly as he'd been five hundred years ago.

"How the hell did you come back, huh?" Yato hissed. "What the fuck is happening here?!"

"I… I spoke to the one called… Bishamon," Rabou mumbled. His eyes were slightly glazed as he spoke, and he swayed on his feet. Yato jerked back, stunned at the mention of his number-one enemy's name.

 _D-did he just say Bishamon?!_ Yukine gasped. _What the…_

"She… told me that I… reincarnated," Rabou said, hoarsely, stumbling to the side a bit.

Yato's jaw dropped. "You reincarnated? _You_ did?!" He stepped back, Sekki sagging in his slackened grip. "B-but you haven't had any followers in like five hundred years! Man… that's just not fair." He glared at Rabou, wounded. Pointing Sekki at him, he yelled, "Don't tell me _you're_ more popular than I am!"

" _That's_ what you're worried about here?!" Hiyori exclaimed.

"But you need to have _believers_ to reincarnate, Hiyori!" Yato whined. "He's been dead for hundreds of years! And it's not like he was super popular back then, either! Where is he gonna get that many followers from, huh?!"

"That's not the biggest issue right now!" Hiyori yelled. "What about—"

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground broke off the budding argument before Hiyori could do anything rash, like pinning Yato to the ground and twisting his arm again. Yato turned around, only to see that Rabou had collapsed in a heap of limp limbs and unfashionable clothes. Silence sat over them for a moment, and then Yato had the presence of mind to call Yukine back.

The three of them gaped wordlessly at the unconscious god. What were they even supposed to say in this situation, anyway? Another sound broke the confused spell hanging over them—small footfalls pattering on the concrete path, cheerful humming. Yato had just enough time to think about how tough this was gonna be to explain before Kofuku skipped into view, coming towards them from the shop.

"There you are, Yato-chan!" Kofuku sang out. "I heard a funny noise so I came to see what you're doing! You're not leaving me out of something fun, are you?"

"Ahahaha… yo, Kofuku!" Yato chimed, a bit too perkily. He tried to step in front of Rabou but it was too late—she spotted Rabou lying at his feet and bounded over, squealing.

"Ooh! Did you bring a friend over?!" Kofuku asked eagerly. She squatted down, playing with Rabou's hair and giggling. "Why's he on the ground?"

"K-Kofuku, uh… this is kind of a weird situation," Yato laughed weakly. "That is, uh… he's…"

Yukine jutted a hand out, pointing at Rabou. "That's the crazy, dead god that tried to kill us a few days ago," he stated. A heavy silence fell over them again.

"….Oh!" Kofuku said, her smile icing over.

"Like I said," Yato grumbled, "Weird situation."

* * *

The minutes ticked by, slowly and awkwardly. In a second-story room above the shop, they sat and uncomfortably eyed their surprise "guest", who had been unceremoniously dragged to a corner of the room — Yato, Yukine, Hiyori, and Kofuku…except Daikoku, who was leaning against the wall and intensely puffing his cigarette and staunchly refusing to look at the latest uninvited visitor to his home.

Yato furrowed his brow as he stared at Rabou, still unconscious. Daikoku had trussed him up pretty solidly— his legs were bound from knee to ankle, and Daikoku had crossed Rabou's arms on his chest and bound his forearms together from elbow to wrist. It looked pretty inescapable. Yato had seen pictures of ancient Egyptian mummies, and this was kinda reminding him of it.

Although, Yato almost wondered if the ropes were even necessary. Outside, on the path… something had definitely been different. Why had he just stood there? Why had he not fought back? Yato had been literally a hair's breadth away from killing him right where he'd stood, and he hadn't even _tried_ to dodge or retaliate. Yato had never known Rabou to pass up a fight.

Kofuku shuffled forward on her hands and knees to crouch beside Rabou. Poking the side of his head with one slender fingertip, she said, "So this is your friend from all those years ago, huh, Yato-chan?"

"Yeah, guess so," Yato muttered, still studying Rabou with narrowed eyes. 'Friendship' wasn't really a great word for it… they had fought alongside each other, shed so much blood together, carried out countless dark and grisly wishes together… could that be called friendship? It was the closest thing he'd had to it at the time, anyway. Father and Hiiro hadn't exactly been good company, after all. That was before he'd met Kofuku; Rabou had been long dead by the time she'd come into his life.

Rabou's last appearance had been the Stray's doing, and he just knew that Father had probably been involved somehow. It'd been yet another ploy to bring him home to dear old Dad. But Yato had killed Rabou that day, he'd shattered the curses holding him together. She couldn't possibly have brought Rabou back a second time. The spirit vessel he'd fought had crumbled to dust— there was no coming back from that, not even with a Stray's powerful curses. Still, he couldn't afford to ignore the possibility. It wasn't like Father and his shinki to try the same ploy twice, but maybe they had a different angle this time.

The longer he sat there staring at his onetime "friend", becoming increasingly confused, the more Yato kind of wanted to reach over there and strangle the reincarnation right out of the bastard and settle the matter. Whatever was going on here, it'd stop being his problem if Rabou stopped existing, right? That was how the two of them had settled problems in those days, after all. That was what he'd been born to do.

And yet, he was trying to not be like that anymore. That was the whole point of his delivery god scheme. He glanced sideways at Hiyori, who was regarding Rabou with her forehead furrowed and her lips pursed in puzzlement. He remembered the cold fear on Hiyori's face when he'd told her that gods could do whatever they wanted, because human morality didn't apply to a god as it did for a shinki. If he summoned Sekki and struck Rabou down right now, while he was unconscious… would that fear come back to her eyes?

He looked down at Rabou again and shrugged off the idea of summoning Sekki. Not yet, anyway. If he wanted to make himself a problem again, well, Yato had a top-notch shinki who could take care of it without even breaking a sweat. Rabou didn't even have a shinki with him, and if the Stray was close by, Yato would sense it. Plus, he had a certain pink-haired buddy right there with him; he didn't want it to come to that, but she'd back him up if he really needed it. They'd be fine. Besides, Rabou was tied up good and tight.

Yato laid back on the floor, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling and wondering what would happen next.

* * *

The next day, Rabou was still out cold. He hadn't even moved a muscle. Yato hadn't gotten any calls, so there he was, lounging on the floor and keeping an eye on their "guest". Hiyori and Yukine had relocated to the table in the corner to continue with the shinki's lessons, but their conversation was more muted today than it usually was.

"So," Hiyori said, "If you use these numbers, the answer would be…?"

"Uh..." Yukine muttered. Yato heard the scratching of a pencil against paper, and then a hesitant, "Forty-two?"

"Nope," Hiyori said. "Try again!" Normally, Yato would've chimed in with a totally helpful and very relevant remark, but he was a bit busy mulling a certain situation over in his thoughts.

And then, right at that moment, the plot thickened. Rabou's mouth twitched and his eyebrows furrowed, and Yato sat bolt upright.

"Yato? Did something happen?" Hiyori asked from behind him. She came over from the table and crouched down beside him. Yukine joined her, his hands shoved into his sweatshirt pockets and his shoulders hunched. Yato could feel his unease as clearly as he felt his own.

"Looks like our guest might be waking up," Yato muttered. Rabou's mouth moved as he murmured something inaudible, and the fingers on his right hand flexed. Hiyori edged close to Yato, and under any other circumstances he might've enjoyed the feeling that she wanted him to protect her. This asshole Rabou was ruining everything and he wasn't even conscious yet.

That was about to change, though. Rabou shifted and his arms strained against the ropes for a moment— and then his eyes opened, their gold color flashing in the lights overhead. The two gods locked eyes and Yato felt a cold chill run up his spine. Rabou looked down at his bound arms and pulled against his bindings again, then pushed against the mat with his elbows, trying to sit up. He was going to have a hard time doing that with his arms bound in front of him, naturally. But he was trying, and damned if that didn't summarize everything Yato had ever known about this bastard. Rabou had just about managed to sit upright, and then…

"Yato-chaaaan!" trilled Kofuku, her voice wafting in from the hallway. She trotted into the room with a loaded tea tray balanced precariously in her hands. Daikoku hovered behind her, and on his face was the look of a man questioning all of his life choices as he eyed the tray carried by his goddess. Then she spotted Rabou and exclaimed, "Ah, your friend's waking up!"

"Oi, Kofuku, hold on!" Yato protested, reaching out. But it was too late. It had already been too late, from the moment that Daikoku had let her carry that tray (probably because she had asked him with the big, sad puppy eyes). As Kofuku bounded over to Rabou and leaned over him, the teapot toppled over, rolled off the tray— and shattered with a crash against the top of Rabou's head. He dropped like a rock, out cold once more.

No one moved. No one even breathed. Yato was pretty sure that for a split second, there wasn't even a heartbeat to be had in the entire room. There was nothing but shocked stares.

"Guess he's gonna sleep more," Yukine muttered. Hiyori let out a startled, choked bark of a laugh and then guiltily pressed her hands to her mouth. Daikoku lifted the tray from Kofuku's hands with a muttered 'pardon me, milady', and Kofuku just gaped at Rabou in astonishment. The only one trying harder than Hiyori to hold back a laugh was Yato, who was struggling very, very hard.

"S-someone should probably clean that up, right?" Hiyori asked faintly. She pointed to the tea soaking Rabou's face and hair and forming a puddle under his head, and the shards of pottery strewn all over. It had cut his forehead, too; a small trickle of blood slid down his temple. Hiyori was right, but Yato wasn't about to volunteer.

"I'll do it!" Kofuku chimed enthusiastically, thrusting her hand into the air.

"N-no, no no no, no," Daikoku cut in, grabbing her shoulders gently. "I'll take care of it."

"It's fine, Daikoku-san, I'll do it," Yukine offered. "That's part of my job here, isn't it? Cleaning up spills?"

Yato grinned, relieved as the tense mood of the room finally lifted. "Wow, look at how great my kid is! Ain't he responsible?" he crowed. "Offering to clean up a former enemy of ours. I have the best shinki!"

Yukine ducked his head, though not quite fast enough to hide the flush on his face from the praise, and he grumbled, "Just tryin' to help." He shuffled out of the room to fetch some rags.

* * *

His head ached. As Rabou woke up, that was the first thing he realized. Bright lights stung at his tired eyes as he slowly opened them, making the dull ache even worse. He shifted— but he couldn't move. Lifting his head gingerly, he peered down and saw the ropes binding his forearms together on his chest; and he couldn't see the ropes on his legs, but he could certainly feel them. He let his weary head fall back onto the hard floor, the room spinning as he tried to reorient himself.

As he stared up at the wooden ceiling, he pieced together what he could remember: he'd found the home of the poverty god… and Yatogami had attacked him. Yes, he remembered the blue-eyed god charging at him with a sword, but he had held back at the last second. Even so, he'd been ablaze with anger. Did Yatogami expect to continue their recent fight?

Rabou pulled against the ropes on his forearms, struggling to free himself. He had to find Yatogami and get answers. He had no desire to take up a fight he didn't even remember, he just wanted to know who he was. If he could just explain himself, if he could make Yatogami understand what he wanted…!

"Oi." The low voice that growled from across the room snapped Rabou out of his sudden urgency. He turned his head and saw a dark-haired man, leaning against the wall across the room with his arms crossed over his chest. A white stick that trailed smoke dangled from the fingertips of his right hand. He took a puff of smoke from the stick and said to Rabou, "Settle down, now."

A blur of pink caught his eye and a slim girl with bright, curly hair bounced into view, squatting down next to him. "Ooh, are you awake again?" she exclaimed. She beamed widely. "Sorry about the teapot!"

The girl sat down beside him with her legs tucked under herself. Her pink curls swayed around her face as she moved. Pink hair… Rabou remembered what Bishamon's shinki had said— that the boss of the shop was a sweet, pink-haired girl. This girl radiated with the same type of aura as Bishamon and Yatogami, and he could see that same type of shinki bond between her and the dark-haired man.

"Are you the poverty god?" he asked hoarsely.

"Shh, don't tell anyone! It's bad for business," she said conspiratorially, putting a finger to her lips. He had no idea what that meant. She shifted to lie down on her stomach, chin propped on her knuckles. "So you're Rabou, huh?"

"So it seems," he said sourly.

"I hope you're not gonna try to hurt Yato-chan again," she remarked, playing with a lock of his hair. "He's my best friend, you know?" Her tone had suddenly gotten more serious.

"I have no interest in harming Yatogami," Rabou said, frustrated. Perhaps if he could convince her, she might convince Yatogami.

"Hmm, really? Well, that's good! It'd be pretty _rude_ if you attacked my best friend in my own house, since I've taken you in and shown you hospitality and all," she said, tugging a bit too sharply on his hair. Her eyes glinted in a way that made him uneasy, and he wondered what power this god possessed.

Just then, the distant sound of voices reached them and the pink-haired one sprang to her feet. "Yato-chan is here!" she trilled, twirling around on her tiptoes. She bounded out of the room. The dark-haired shinki stayed, though. He shoved one hand into the pocket of his pants and raised his other hand, taking a long pull on the white stick. A plume of smoke rose from his mouth as he exhaled. The sharp smell of it tickled in Rabou's throat and he turned his head away— as much to avoid the man's harsh stare as the acrid smoke.

He shifted restlessly on the floor. The ropes dug into his forearms and legs. The bright lights overhead still made his eyes ache, and his gut felt empty. His forehead stung and he felt grimy all over. Even though he'd been unconscious for a while, he was still weary.

As he lay there in uncomfortable silence, he wondered what would become of him now. Would Yatogami tell him what he wanted to know? And if he wouldn't, what then? He didn't know if they would release him and let him leave. Even if they did, he had no idea what he would do, or where he ought to go next. Was he going to spend his existence drifting aimlessly with a head full of fog and fragmented memories? The thought made his stomach churn and he shifted again in agitation.

In the silence, another voice darted into his head— _Rabou-sama, I beg of you, please teach them a lesson! Make them pay!_ He shut his eyes tightly, trying to drive the strange voice from his thoughts, but he once again felt that urge to do something indefinable. He knew where these desperate words came from, and he knew what he had to do… didn't he?

Soon enough, a clamor of voices drew closer to the room and the pink-haired woman returned, with Yatogami and his friends in tow. The three of them fell silent as they stepped into the room. Rabou tilted his head back to see them. They were the same two companions as before: the blond-haired boy and the brown-haired girl. This time, at closer range, he could see the shinki bond between the blond boy and Yatogami.

But the brown-haired girl— there was something peculiar about her. A strange energy radiated from her, but it wasn't a god's energy; it was… unsettling. A translucent purple tail swished back and forth behind the girl's back, twitching nervously as she eyed him warily. He couldn't put a name to this strangeness, but Yatogami certainly seemed to be keeping unusual company.

"See?" chirped the pink-haired woman, pointing at Rabou. "Told ya he's awake!" No one responded.

Yatogami narrowed his eyes at Rabou. "Oi, Kofuku," he said quietly. "I think I hear some customers downstairs."

"Huh? I don't hear anything," Kofuku said, pouting. Her shinki seemed to pick up the hidden meaning in Yatogami's words, though, because he gently placed a hand on the small of Kofuku's back and steered her out of the room, saying something about how they should go tend to the shop.

"Hiyori, you should go with them," Yatogami added.

The girl's eyes widened. "Why?" she asked, forehead furrowing.

"Y-yeah, Yato, what's gonna happen here?" the shinki boy asked apprehensively.

"That depends on him," Yatogami remarked, narrowing his eyes at Rabou. Tied up and drained of energy as he was, Rabou couldn't help but frown right back at him. What did Yatogami expect him to do in this state? There was only one thing he wanted— this was his chance to explain himself.

"You are the only one who can tell me of my past self; for days now, I have sought you out. I have no desire to fight you. I only ask for answers" Rabou said hurriedly. His pulse quickened; he'd stated his purpose, he was so close to the secrets of his past, but it all depended on Yatogami now.

"Oh?" Yatogami's eyes were icy cold. He squatted down next to Rabou, forearms braced against his knees. "Come to think of it, I kinda want some answers too, you know? For instance, you could start by telling me why you attacked my shinki and me… and why you tried to kill Hiyori _twice_." The venom in his voice sent a cold chill down Rabou's spine.

The situation had just become much, much clearer. So he had come that close to taking the girl's life? It was no wonder that Yatogami held him in such contempt, if she was that important to him. And it explained why he remained so convinced that Rabou would try to hurt them again.

Yatogami sat down next to Rabou, legs crossed. His eyes were flat and frigid, his face alarmingly impassive. Those eyes brought back something that resonated within Rabou, some echo from the past. He had seen those eyes before, he knew that. Yatogami wanted to kill him, there was no doubt of that. And if he did, Rabou doubted he would reincarnate a second time.

* * *

Yato stared down at his old ally for a moment; he hoped the stare would intimidate him a little bit, since Yato was clearly angry and clearly had the upper hand, but he also needed a second to gather his thoughts.

Rabou had reincarnated, that much was obvious. The god-zombie he had faced days ago had been hollow and wrong. He'd sensed it right away. But now, Rabou seemed in every way like a fully reborn god. Yato may not have had a shrine (yet) or a presence in Takamagahara ( _yet_ ), but he had the same senses that the more privileged gods did. He knew a real god when he saw one.

So yes, Rabou was clearly resurrected, but how? A god who'd been dead for five hundred years shouldn't have had enough supporters to reincarnate. If the Stray had brought Rabou back again, she'd done a damn good job— no curses holding him together like duct tape this time. Before, Rabou had been merely _awakened_. That was an easier feat, like gluing a broken vase back together. But this, a full reincarnation, bringing a forgotten, dead god back completely… that was like making it so the broken vase had never been shattered at all. Sure, Strays were powerful, but were they _that_ powerful? Was Father capable of something like that? Even after hundreds of years, Yato still had no idea what his old man's true abilities were.

This whole thing was a mess. He was gonna have to sort it out, but where was he supposed to start? He heaved a ragged sigh, leaning his chin on his hand and bracing his elbow on his knee.

"You really caused me a whole lot of problems, you know," he grumbled.

"So I have heard," Rabou said, and he sounded way more aggravated than he had any right to be. "I remember almost none of it."

"So you don't remember teaming up with my creepy ex-shinki? That Stray?" Yato asked, and even he was impressed by how calm and not angry he sounded.

"Perhaps if you told me of this Stray, I could tell you if I do," Rabou shot back sourly. "There are no names to accompany the few faces that remain in my memories."

Yato's eyebrows furrowed. So he didn't remember joining forces with the Stray to fight Yato, and he didn't remember the two times he'd nearly killed Hiyori… Rabou had put them through so much trouble and caused so much pain, and here he was, not having to remember any of it. Well now, wasn't he just the luckiest piece of shit? Yato scoffed and glared at Rabou.

"How nice for you, to forget all the shitty stuff you did," he grumbled.

"If I could remember, I would," Rabou shot back. "I did not ask for my mind to be swept clean."

"So what _do_ you remember, then, huh?" Yato growled, leaning forward. "You obviously remember _something_ , if you came looking for me."

"All that I remember is the feeling of a sword in my hands, and seeing your eyes filled with rage," Rabou told him. "And I remember grasping the girl by that pink cloth around her neck—"

"Yeah, that'd be the second time you tried to kill her," Yato snapped. "If that's all you remember, then how the hell did you even find me?"

"By chance, I found my way to the shrine of Bishamon. It was she who gave me your name— and _mine_ , as well," Rabou said, and Yato didn't miss the pointed way he said that last part. Yato continued to scowl; he figured it was going to be a while before he stopped scowling, as pissed off as he was.

Now that he thought about it, Rabou _had_ mentioned Bishamon's name before, outside the shop. If he was making that up, it was an awfully weird lie— and one that he was sticking to, even after being unconscious for more than twenty-four hours.

"And why would Bishamon help you out, huh?" Yato sneered. "Why would she tell you anything?" And then a more pressing matter occurred to him and he leaned forward, asking, "Did she tell you where to find me?" Shit, if she knew where he was…!

"It was a courtesy to a fellow god, she said, and then she forbade me to ever return uninvited," Rabou said. Yato snorted; that last part sure sounded like the bikini-wearing demon queen. That hadn't answered his most important question though.

"Was she the one who told you where to find me?" Yato asked urgently. That was the biggest issue, aside from the whole "dead enemy came back" thing.

"No, her shinki was the one who suggested I might come here," Rabou said. Yato sat up a bit at that; there was only one shinki of Bishamon's who could have told him anything like that.

"Oh, yeah? What did this shinki look like?" Yato challenged, crossing his arms.

"He had short brown hair and green eyes. He wore a device of glass and metal on his face," Rabou told him flatly, staring up at the ceiling. Well, that definitely sounded like Kazuma. Rabou went on, saying, "He spoke as if he knows you. He warned me that you are not the same as you once were."

Yato had to scoff again at that; Kazuma certainly would know, wouldn't he? "Yeah, well, five hundred years is a long time to rethink your existence," he remarked. "Not that you'd know, since you were dead that whole time."

Rabou rolled his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Dead? Bishamon's shinki claimed that we fought mere days ago, yet you say now that my existence ended hundreds of years in the past."

"Yeah, you died a long time ago, and then someone brought you back for a few days recently. We crossed swords and you died again. But that wasn't a real reincarnation, of course, just a shitty imitation," Yato sneered. "It wouldn't have lasted long anyway."

"Who was it that brought me back? Why?" Rabou asked insistently. "Please, Yatogami, tell me what you know."

Yato bristled at him. "Oi, I should be the one getting answers here! _You're_ the one that attacked us! _You're_ the one that hurt _us_ , why should I tell you anything you wanna know?!"

"If you will neither help me nor release me, then slay me!" Rabou snapped at him. "End my existence once more— or is that not what brought our last fight to a close, Yatogami?"

"Oho, so you just figured that out, huh?" Yato jeered.

"I attacked you and nearly took the life of someone close to you," Rabou said grimly. "I died a second time and you remained… it isn't difficult to guess who the victor was. You were the one who ended my past self— the 'shitty imitation', as you said."

"You're damn right, I did," Yato snapped back. He braced his hands on his knees, fingernails digging into the pants of his track suit. "And if I have to do it again, I sure as hell will!"

"Then take up your weapon!" Rabou shouted. He struggled to push himself up onto his elbows, fists clenching. "I have no quarrel with you! If you won't believe me when I say that, if you won't give me the answers I seek, then end me! I know almost nothing of my own existence— ever since I awoke, I've drifted with a head full of fog and mere shards of my past. Have you any idea what that is like? I'd rather be slain than survive like this!"

Well, that got Yato's attention. "Oh? You sure are picky. You said something like that last time, too. Are you not happy with your reincarnation?" he asked coldly.

"I couldn't even tell you that much," Rabou snarled. "Do you know what it is to lose yourself, Yatogami? Not even I know. I cannot remember my past self, neither the darkness nor whatever light there may have been. I know not whether I have gained or lost from this reincarnation."

Yato sat back, hands loosening on his knees; he hadn't expected that answer. "You'd remember your entire past if you could? Even the worst, most horrible parts? Some of it was pretty unpleasant," he remarked coldly, crossing his arms.

"How can I know what I am now, if I know nothing of what I was then?" Rabou said. "I awoke to this new existence with _nothing_ , not even the truth of my own name, and no one will tell me what they know of me— neither Bishamon, nor her shinki, nor you. I have wandered for days without knowing _anything_ of myself, other the few scraps of memory I still have. Am I to wander like this until my existence ends again?" He leaned towards Yato as best he could and his eyes were wide, almost desperate.

Yato had to admit, that did sound like a pretty terrible fate. Not that Rabou didn't deserve it, and he had entirely brought this on himself, of course— but he was right about it being a shitty fate. Then again, he did deserve it, after all.

Yukine stood behind Yato, hovering anxiously. It'd so so, so easy to summon Sekki and put an end to Rabou again— way easier than it had been last time. It'd be over before Rabou could even register that it was happening. Quick and basically painless, a much nicer end than he had ever earned. There was just one little problem with that idea…

Yato heaved another sigh and pressed his palms on his knees. Standing up slowly, Yato stared down at Rabou. "Once again… your wish has been heard loud and clear," he said. "Come, Sekki!"

* * *

Rabou watched in astonishment as the blond boy vanished in a flash of light— the boy barely had time to utter a startled sound, and then he materialized as a sword in Yatogami's grasp. The edge of the blade gleamed in the lights from above, and Rabou felt a sudden chill— this was as far as he would go in his new existence. He wasn't entirely surprised.

"So be it, Yatogami," he murmured. He let his eyelids slide shut, waiting for the strike that would end him, and he tried to still his suddenly racing heart. It wasn't even the thought of dying that scared him— he hadn't had enough of this existence to worry that he would miss it. Although, he had so wanted to fill these holes in his memories… but that would hardly matter now. Surely he wouldn't be aware of the dark, empty spaces within himself once he was dead.

But then, Yatogami spoke again. "Idiot. I never said which request I was gonna grant," he grumbled. "Hey, Yukine… cut only the ropes, got it?"

Rabou's eyes snapped open again in shock, right as Yatogami's blade sliced through the air. Two quick, powerful slashes— and then, the tight ropes binding him fell away. He lifted his hands, staring in disbelief. His wrists were red from the ropes where his sleeves hadn't covered his skin, but he was unhurt. Could it really be…?

"Yukine, nice work," Yatogami said. The sword disappeared in a brilliant flash and returned as the boy, who was staring back and forth between the two of them in confusion.

Rabou slowly pushed himself up on his elbow, wincing at the soreness from being bound for so long. "Yatogami, you…"

"Stop calling me that. It's just Yato now," he said sharply. "And be grateful, you shitty bastard. I'm about to tell you everything."

* * *

 **Well well well! That concludes our update, I hope everyone enjoyed it. In the next chapter: awkwardness. Lots of it. As always, I'd love to hear some comments on this story. Don't get me wrong— it truly does make me happy to see that people have read the story! But I'm curious to know what people are thinking as they read it. What do you like about it? What are you hoping to see in the future? Is there anything you'd like to see improved? As always: please throw your comments directly at my face. See you in chapter 3!**


	4. Chapter 3

SO…. This is the same chapter as last time. Sorrrryyyyy. This hasn't been a good… uh, year. But! I revised this chapter! It's a whole lot better now! Most of the revisions are around the middle of the chapter. Chapter 4 is in the works, it'll happen.

* * *

 **THIRD CHAPTER: SLAIN BY DISREGARD**

This was sure as hell going to be awkward, and weird, and just overall uncomfortable. Killing Rabou would've been so much easier, really. But Yato had one big problem with that idea, so he'd opted to saddle himself with inconvenience instead.

Rabou sat up slowly and pushed the remains of the ropes away, his eyes on Yato the whole time. "You'll tell me what I want to know?" he asked. "Why?"

"Don't get me wrong here," Yato snapped. "I'm not doing this to help you. The thing is… after all the shit you pulled before, killing you again would just be letting you off too easy. I only granted your death wish last time because you were putting Yukine and Hiyori in danger. Otherwise, I'd have left you to die off on your own. You don't deserve an easy out this time around. You wanna know who you used to be? I'll tell you everything and if you don't like the truth, you're just gonna have to deal with it."

Speaking of those two… he could feel them both watching him. Of course, he'd been so busy being angry, he'd forgotten that Hiyori hadn't gone downstairs with Kofuku. Had she thought he was really going to kill Rabou? And… if he had, would she have been okay with that? Yato kind of wondered what her expression looked like right now. Come to think of it, if he told Rabou everything right then and there, Hiyori and Yukine would hear it all, too. They'd no doubt be shocked to hear all the gory details…

He strode over and grabbed Rabou by the collar of his stupid, outdated robes, and hauled him to his feet— not an easy task, given that Rabou was still half a head taller than him after all these centuries, but he was determined not to let that stop him from being in charge here.

"Come with me, we're going for a walk," he grumbled. Rabou neither resisted nor commented on this, and Yato was grateful that he was still out of sorts from reincarnating (and, probably, from being tied up for two days). "You two, stay here with Kofuku and Daikoku," he added to Yukine and Hiyori. He didn't look at them as he pulled Rabou by the wrist towards the door.

"Wh— Yato?! Where the hell are you going?" Yukine sputtered. Yato didn't look back.

"Shouldn't you stay here?" Hiyori asked, and he could hear her concern. "Couldn't it be dangerous, alone…?"

Yato paused with his hand on the door, and he glanced back at Rabou. The other god stared back at him intently, without a trace of malice.

"I can handle this by myself," Yato said, turning back to the door. "But the stuff we're gonna be talking about… it's not a fun story, you know."

"But…" Hiyori started. Nope, Yato couldn't do this— not here, not in front of them… not yet. He slid the door open and hauled Rabou out.

Rabou didn't fight him in the slightest as Yato hauled him down the hallway. This version of Rabou was certainly more compliant than the last one he'd dealt with. It really was lucky for Yato that he was still disoriented from his reincarnation. Rabou's sense of self hadn't quite settled into place yet. He stumbled a bit as Yato led him downstairs, and it vaguely occurred to Yato that he might be hungry or thirsty. Well, if he was, that was just too damn bad. It wasn't like he was gonna starve or anything.

As soon as Kofuku spotted them, she jumped up from where she'd been reading by the kotatsu and bounded over excitedly.

"Yato-chaaan! You untied him, huh? Does that mean he's not your enemy anymore?" she chirped, hands clasped behind her back, balancing on the balls of her feet.

"I'm still deciding on that part," Yato said. "Sorry, Kofuku, but we're gonna leave for a little bit. We've got some stuff to talk about."

Kofuku cocked her head to the side. "Hmm? What stuff?" she asked.

"Some boring stuff about the past," he said. He hadn't really meant to look away when he said it, but it ended up happening anyway. Kofuku dropped flat on her feet, and her smile dimmed slightly.

"The past, hmm?" Kofuku echoed, and her voice was suddenly much softer. "Yeah, I've heard those stories before. You're right, it _is_ kinda boring… I'll leave you to it, then, Yato-chan!" She twirled around and bounced back to the kotatsu. Good ol' Kofuku, he never had to explain himself to her; she already knew all the gritty details of his history.

"C'mon, let's go," he growled to Rabou. Yato pulled him through the shop and out into the daylight.

* * *

Rabou let Yato pull him by the arm; Yato had said he was going to tell him everything, and although he still wasn't really sure why, he wasn't going to question it. All he could do now was follow and trust that Yato really would do as he'd promised. Once they were outside, Yato let go of Rabou's wrist and strode away from him.

"Follow me," he ordered, and took off at a sprint. Hopping onto a bench, he sprang up into the air, straight up to the top of a tall, wooden pole. Rabou stared after him, startled. Yato stepped off the crossbeam at the top of the pole and onto the black cables attached to it. He strode a few paces away, hands in his pockets, then paused and glanced back down.

"Hey, c'mon, idiot," he called down. "I didn't come up here for my health. You get up here, too."

"And how am I meant to do _that_?" Rabou asked dryly, crossing his arms.

"Just jump!" Yato shouted back. "You used to be able to do shit like this, you know? You'll probably just instinctively know what to do, or something."

"Oh?" Rabou muttered, sizing up the height of the pole.

"Or maybe you'll just fall on your ass. Either way, it makes no difference to me," Yato added with a smirk. Rabou glared up at him and then took a few steps back, eyeing the bench that Yato had jumped from.

"So my old self could do such things, hm?" he murmured. He broke into a run and leaped onto the bench, launching off from it and launched himself up into the air. And, somehow… it was so effortless. The wind whipped against his face as he soared up to the top of the pole. It was so easy to land lightly on the crossbeam. Was this part of what he and Yato were, having the strength to do things like that? He hadn't yet seen anyone else do anything of the sort.

Yato jerked his head for Rabou to follow him, then walked onwards along the cable. Rabou followed, stepping off the crossbeam and onto the thick cable— and that felt effortless too. It was no more difficult than walking on the ground, even though the cable swayed slightly under his feet.

"Why are we up here?" Rabou asked. Yato glanced back over his shoulder.

"Why?" he echoed. His mouth curved up in a thin smirk. "Because we can, obviously. There's at least a few good things about being a god, you know."

"Oh? Then perhaps you might tell me of being a god, so that I may enjoy these good things as well," Rabou sniped.

Yato huffed, rolling his eyes. "C'mon, walk with me. We're gonna start with the easy stuff. Humans make wishes to the gods, and the gods answer. They come to us for guidance, good fortune, protection, that kind of stuff. They believe in us and their belief keeps us going. It's a balance thing— harmony among humans, harmony in the heavens." He paused, then added derisively, "You haven't figured out _any_ of this by yourself yet? There's some things a god should know instinctively."

"If I could learn of myself by instinct alone, I would certainly have done so— and with far fewer ropes binding me," Rabou shot back in frustration. "If there are such memories within me, I know them not. The fragments that remain swirl like a fog within my mind. I can hardly distinguish one from another, except for brief moments of clarity."

"All right, whatever," Yato grumbled. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he stomped along the wires.

"You seem reluctant to discuss these matters," Rabou observed, crossing his arms.

"I don't like talking about boring shit that happened hundreds of years ago. And I sure as hell don't feel like talking to you about any of this," Yato stated irritably.

"Yet you agreed to do exactly that," Rabou said. "I don't ask for your friendship, nor for your compassion. All I ask is that you answer my questions honestly. Grant me that one kindness, and I shall leave you in peace."

Yato scowled at him over his shoulder. "Damn well hope so. I already got the Demon Bikini Queen on my ass, the last thing I need is _another_ old nuisance like you hanging around," he muttered, glancing at the street below. Then he turned to face Rabou and crossed his arms. "What do you wanna know first?"

"What is a god of calamity? Bishamon spoke those words with contempt," Rabou said. "Her shinki talked of bloodstained and malicious wishes that we granted."

"Yeah, well, humans don't always want _happy_ stuff like good grades and true love," Yato said sourly. "Sometimes they want selfish, nasty stuff, like revenge or power. Sometimes they want to get rid of someone who's in their way, or someone who hurt them. Most gods won't touch that stuff… let's call it the messy stuff, the base desires of humanity."

"We were the gods that granted those desires?" Rabou asked.

"Yeah," Yato said grimly. "It's a powerful thing when a human makes a wish to a god, even if it's a selfish or violent wish. That stuff's part of humanity, too. It sucks for the person that dies, but it satisfies the desires of the person who wanted them gone."

"Why will other gods not answer these wishes? Why do we disgust Bishamon so?" Rabou asked.

"That's complicated. We're starting with the easy stuff, remember?" Yato grumbled.

"You vowed to tell me what I want to know. Is it wrong that we answer such wishes?" Rabou pushed.

Yato paused mid-step, shoulders hunching up as he bristled. Turning on his heel, he glared at Rabou and snapped, "A god's every action is righteous, got that? We're not bound by the same morality as a shinki or a human!"

"Oh? Then why does it pain you so to speak of this?" Rabou challenged. Yato's lips twisted into a thin, furious scowl.

"Hey, hey, hey! I didn't even tell you all the shitty details of my life back then, why would I do it now?" Yato sneered. He stormed over, stabbing a finger at Rabou. "You're just a reincarnation, anyway! I don't fucking know you, why should I tell you anything about me, huh?!"

"If you didn't wish to speak of this then you've only yourself to blame!" Rabou snapped back. "I asked for answers and you offered them!"

"Yeah, about _you_! We came up here to talk about _your_ shitty past, not mine! I'm not gonna sit here and pour out my whole existence to a shitty reincarnation of some worn-out old god that tried to kill me! You're not even a real reincarnation, you're a reincarnation of some weird undead zombie!" Yato shot back.

"Is it not true that our pasts are intertwined? Why offer to help me if you're so averse to speaking of these matters?" Rabou pushed, fists clenching in impatience.

"So what else do you still need to know then, huh?" Yato growled. "Maybe you'd like to know how you died, will _that_ make you happy?!"

That brought Rabou's frustration up short. "How I died?" he echoed.

"I'd be more than willing to tell you _that_ part. You wanna know what it was? Your followers _forgot_ you!" Yato jeered, prodding Rabou's chest with his finger. "That's what happens to us small-time gods, you know. If we're forgotten, we die, and that's our so-called inescapable fate! You really ought to know _this_ part, you were spouting that crap nonstop when we fought! You kept saying that we're hopeless gods, doomed to be forgotten no matter what we do— you wouldn't shut up about it!"

"I said that?" Rabou murmured distantly. That faint ringing in his ears returned, along with an echo… _That is the way of things._ Hadn't those been his words, in his past life?

"Yeah, you sure as hell did," Yato jibed. "You really wanna know what happened? You lost all your followers and that's it. They didn't need you anymore and they forgot you, every last one. A god only needs one follower to remember them- just one. I guess you couldn't even manage _that_ much."

 _However many wishes we grant, people will always fear, loathe, and forget gods of calamity. For better or worse, people's feelings are always fickle._ His vision blurred as those words came back to him, resounding in his head. _It is our fate to be slain by disregard._ His pulse was pounding, his hands shaking slightly. He could feel it again, the hilt of a sword in his grasp, sticky blood spattered on his face and clothes. Lifting his hands, he could almost see the sword, like a hazy, flickering double vision. There had been a shinki, too, a young woman who had transformed into a magnificent naginata…

And, suddenly, the fog cleared in a flash and he could see it so clearly. He saw Yato, his hair longer and tied back, with a black-eyed little girl at his side. He saw his own shinki, her eyes rounded with concern. She'd watched helplessly as he'd faded away… _I am at their mercy, and it terrifies me so_ … She'd fretted over those words of his.

He reeled back, clasping a hand to his left eye as it ached again. Yato, the present-day god, swam into focus again as the vision passed. He was frowning, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What just happened?" he asked warily.

"I— I could see ourselves in ages past: you, and the little girl, and my shinki," he murmured shakily.

Yato sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. "Man… See, here's the weird thing. You keep saying that you remember little things from the past, but you shouldn't remember _anything_ from your last incarnation. Gods forget everything when they reincarnate," he said.

That was the least of Rabou's concerns at the moment. "Yato, if I perished, how is it that you remained?" he asked urgently.

"Maybe I was just better at being a god of calamity," he sneered.

"Ah, but we're hopeless gods who are doomed to be forgotten; did I not say that?" Rabou jabbed back, crossing his arms. "We were both gods of calamity, you and I. We both answered malicious prayers, and yet only one of us survived. You would have me believe that your past has _no_ relevance to mine, when we knew each other and fought side by side in those times?" His crossed arms tightened, fingertips digging into his forearms as frustration rose within him again.

"We're not here to talk about that," Yato snapped.

"Oh? Are we not? We need but one follower who won't forget us… could it be that you have one? Or perhaps it's something else," Rabou said. Cold fury flared in Yato's eyes, his jaw clenching.

"We were both gods of calamity, we both cut people up to survive, that's all you need to know," Yato snarled. "I'm done with that shit now. You, on the other hand… well, buddy, you're awake again and you're gonna run out of time real fast if you don't figure out a way to survive. You wanna go back to cutting people down? Go right ahead, it makes no difference to me. Of course, it didn't work out so great before… I wonder how long you'll last this time."

Those words sent a chill through Rabou. "What—" he started.

"Nope, I'm done. You wanted to know who you are and how you died, I told you that much. I'm done," Yato snapped.

With that, Yato leaped away to a nearby rooftop. Rabou reached out, a protesting shout rising in his throat, but his words caught and he stumbled as another voice resounded in his head— _Rabou-sama, please get rid of the one that hurt me!_ He looked down past his feet, to the people hurrying by along the road below… and, suddenly, Yato's last warning made sense. It seems he did know at least one thing by instinct alone. These desperate pleas he'd heard… they were prayers from humans, wishes that he was meant to grant. He had been ignoring them, although unintentionally, but if he continued to let them go unanswered… the wishes would eventually stop coming. He would be forgotten again.

He felt an echo of something ancient, reaching across the centuries, something that his past self must have known and feared deeply. It shook him to his very core. He would perish if he didn't answer these wishes; and yet, in centuries gone by, he had answered every wish no matter what it was. He had slain humans, shinkis, and even gods. Soldiers and their horses alike had fallen at his shinki's blade. But no matter how many wishes he'd answered, it had never been enough. Still they had forgotten him, and still he'd faded away— and he would fade again, just as Yato had said.

 _I wonder how long you'll last_ … If he took up the sword again, would it still not be enough? Could it ever be enough to make them remember him? Was it truly his fate to be slain by disregard, as his past self had said? Rabou stared at his trembling hands.

No… if that was the fate of a god of calamity, then how had Yato survived? He'd said he was done with it, and Bishamon's shinki believed he had changed. If he no longer wielded a sword to answer wishes, then how was he surviving? Rabou crouched down on the cable, his aching head bowed and eyes squeezed shut. The lingering memories were there and he strived to reach them, even as the pain in his head grew worse. But he could almost see it, he could almost grasp how he had felt back then…

He had been envious of Yato in those days. He could hear his own words from those days— _How simply he believes that to rob a man of life and breath is the only way_ … But now Yato sneered at that way of existing. Had he truly found another way to survive?

Rabou stood up sharply, heart hammering. He'd told Yato that he would rather be slain than to exist knowing nothing about himself. Now he knew what he was. Now he knew the fate that was waiting for him— and he wanted to fight it. He didn't want to succumb— not this time.

* * *

Yato returned in a foul mood, but Hiyori's sweet concern made him feel a little better.

"Yato! What happened out there?" she asked as he stomped into the house behind the shop.

"Did he attack you again? Where is he?" Yukine asked warily.

"I told him what he wanted to know and ditched him," Yato said simply. He headed to the fridge and grabbed a beer, ignoring Daikoku's threatening stare. Slumping down by the kotatsu with Kofuku, he popped the beer open and took a long drink.

"You're not worried that he's gonna try something? Seriously?" Yukine asked, incredulous.

"He doesn't remember a damn thing from before. If he becomes a problem again we'll just shut him down, like we did last time," Yato scoffed. Hiyori and Yukine exchanged a worried look, but Yato paid it no mind. He hadn't seen even the smallest hint of malice from Rabou— which was weird, but also a relief. And, of course, he'd be dead again soon enough, probably. Kofuku offered him a rice cracker and he gratefully let her toss it into his open mouth.

Eventually, Hiyori left to go home, Yukine went back to his chores, and Yato enjoyed a few minutes of blissful silence. Still, he kept mulling over his little chat with Rabou. Even though he didn't want to admit it, he _was_ a little bit curious about a few things— namely, how Rabou had reincarnated to begin with, and why he kept remembering scraps from the past. Neither of those things should've been possible. Of course, he didn't care enough to actually find out; he was fine with leaving it a mystery.

And he couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen to the old bastard. He'd die without followers, that was a given, but he wondered if Rabou would take up the sword and try carving out a name for himself as a god of calamity once more. It would be even harder now than it had been five hundred years ago; human nature hadn't really changed that much, but human society had. People generally tried to restrain their more violent impulses. Praying for retribution from what basically amounted to a divine assassin had fallen out of style. Rabou was in for a bad time if he tried to go back to their old way of life, that much was certain. Not that it was Yato's problem.

Footsteps pounded up the sidewalk out in front of the shop, and then—

"Yato!" Rabou shouted, bursting in. Yato spat out a mouthful of beer and swore really, _really_ loudly.

"I already answered your damn questions! Just go away already!" Yato hollered, slamming his beer can down on the kotatsu's tabletop. Yukine bounded in behind Rabou, fists clenched and clearly ready to throw down. Kofuku paused with a rice cracker halfway into her mouth, looking back and forth between them in anticipation; Daikoku hovered behind her.

Rabou stood there, wild eyed and breathing unevenly, and Yato was just about ready to summon Sekki and finish this once and for all… but then Rabou dropped to his knees and bowed low, forehead pressed to the floor.

"I know you've found another way to exist," he said. "Please, I beg of you… show me how to survive!"

Yato froze, gaping at him. He really hadn't been expecting that. He grabbed his beer and drained it in one chug— he was gonna need it.

"What the hell do you think I'm gonna tell you?" he asked icily, standing up and cautiously padding towards Rabou.

"You've changed your ways. You told me that you've given up the sword, yet you still survive," Rabou said desperately. "Tell me how it is that you still exist! There must be some way!"

"I didn't say I gave up the sword," Yato remarked self-consciously. He still cut up ayakashi, after all. But he was keenly aware of Yukine standing behind Rabou, trying to catch Yato's eye. There was stuff that Yukine didn't about know yet. If Rabou kept talking, this conversation was gonna get awkward.

"Please, if there is a way that I might survive, tell me!" Rabou urged, looking up pleadingly at him. Yato took a step back, startled by the frantic look in his yellow eyes. Rabou was actually being sincere. Rabou had never been a very good liar— he'd always been far too theatrical for that kind of subtlety.

"L-look, I'm barely getting by, myself," Yato protested. "I'm flat broke—"

"And a mooch," Daikoku added from across the room.

"Oi!" Yato yelped, shooting him with a wounded glare. Indignantly, he turned back to Rabou and said, "Even if I told you what I do, what makes you think it'd actually work for you, huh?"

"Allow me to try," Rabou begged, pressing his forehead to the floor again. Yato sputtered, scrambling for some response. Of course, the truth was that Yato had his own personal cheat code, and that wasn't really something that could help Rabou. Even if Yato told him everything, it wasn't like Rabou could use his "cheat code" - and even if he could share it, he was pretty sure Rabou wouldn't want it once he knew what it was. Yato crossed his arms tightly over his chest, scowling.

"Honestly, I can't even think of a good reason why I _should_ help you. I'm a very busy god, you know? Just trying to get customers is a full-time job!" Yato huffed. He ignored Daikoku's derisive snort. "I don't have time to be your damn senpai."

"Senpai?" Rabou echoed, lifting his head and furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"Never mind," Yato muttered.

"If you have so little time, then let me be of use to you!" Rabou insisted. "Tell me what you require of me and I'll lend you my assistance! By aiding you, I might draw my own meaning from this world and teach myself how to survive." Behind Rabou, Yukine scowled and clenched his fists.

"Yato doesn't need any help from _you_!" Yukine spat angrily. "Hey, Yato, c'mon! Let's just put an end to this already!"

"Hey, Yato-chan, are you okay?" Kofuku asked, voice quavering slightly. Of course, even if he said no, it wasn't like she could really step in and help him. Given her shinki's powers, she had a tendency to make his fights worse.

Yato narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Rabou carefully. He knew exactly what kind of desperation Rabou was feeling. That fear of fading away, that terror of being forgotten… yeah, he knew that. It wasn't fun, struggling to exist and knowing that your own survival wasn't really within your control. To have your fate in the hands of others who didn't even know the power they held over you…

"Yato!" Yukine shouted insistently.

"Hey, Yukine. Don't let your anger get out of hand, now," Yato cautioned him quietly. Yukine sputtered, taken aback, then lowered his clenched fists. Yato couldn't blame the kid for his look of surprise; Yato could hardly believe what he was about to say, himself.

A god's actions were always just… that was what he'd told Hiyori. That was what he'd always said. Gods weren't bound by human morality. So, really, he probably wouldn't be in the wrong for letting Rabou die. And he kind of deserved it… but it was the old incarnation who'd done that shit. This one seemed genuinely scared and confused. Not that it was Yato's problem either way, but… it might be kind of nice to have someone around who understood. Someone who knew that fear. Kofuku was sympathetic to his problems but it wasn't like she had the same problems as he did. The god of poverty was usually pretty safe. Standing there, seeing another god feel what he felt for the first time in five hundred years… it made him think that it might be good to have another ally on his side.

Yato groaned, pressing his knuckles to his temple, then stomped over and stood over Rabou, arms crossed. This would be the second time he'd rejected an opportunity to boot this asshole out of his life once and for all, and he was already kicking himself for being too damn nice.

"Oi, get up," Yato told him. "Quit groveling, you're embarrassing yourself."

Rabou jerked his head up, sat back on his knees, stared at Yato with wide eyes. "Yato…"

"Don't. Look, we're gonna have to get started quickly here," Yato said curtly. Behind him, he heard Kofuku squeal and clap in excitement at this new twist. "First things first, we're gonna get you cleaned up. You really stink." Rabou blinked at him in confusion, then ducked his head and sniffed his own sleeve.

Yato deposited Rabou into the upstairs bathroom with a terse explanation of what to use and how to use it, then popped off to pay a visit to his regular stomping grounds, the good ol' charity dumpster. It'd served well enough for Yukine's clothes (and his own, if he was being honest), so it'd suffice for Rabou's clothes too. He rummaged around till he'd found a few things that looked like they'd fit, then zapped back to Kofuku's place.

When he got there, he found Yukine leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, arms crossed and scowling. Kofuku hovered nearby, looking back and forth between Yukine and the door with the eager expression of someone waiting for some juicy drama to happen. Daikoku stood behind her, doing an arms-crossed-and-scowling combo that looked remarkably similar to Yukine's— or maybe it was the other way around, Yato reflected.

"What's this, is the WiFi down? You're all bored?" Yato quipped, mustering a smirk. Yukine jumped, startled, his face going red, and then he quickly settled back into his stance.

"J-just… wanted to make sure he didn't start any shit while you were gone," Yukine grumbled, dropping his chin to his chest sulkily.

"Welcome back, Yato-chan!" Kofuku chimed. "Nothing's happened, really, he's just been in there the whooole time."

"If something _had_ happened, this place'd be a smoking crater with a nice big Vent in the middle," Yato teased, tugging her earlobe lightly. She whined and pouted, but got over it fast.

"Hey, Yato-chan, he doesn't seem all that scary," she pointed out.

"Yeah, well, the old incarnation was," Yato grumbled. "I don't know who the hell this new one is."

"Neither does he, from the sounds of it," Daikoku remarked.

Yato frowned, then turned and eyeballed the bathroom door. He wondered how Rabou was faring against the mysteries of modern indoor plumbing. Edging closer, he heard shuffling footsteps, the spray of running water— followed by a wet skidding sound and a heavy thump.

Yukine cocked his head, eyebrows raised. "Do you think he just… fell on his ass?"

"Someone ought to go and check, I don't want anyone getting blood all over our bathroom," Daikoku grunted. Yato could feel all their eyes turn to him.

"Why should I have to?!" he sputtered, wheeling on them.

"Well, he is your f—" Kofuku started.

"Do _not_ say friend," Yato said through gritted teeth. He was definitely taking another beer or two from the fridge before the night was over, he didn't care how much Daikoku might complain. He felt he deserved it.

Still, they couldn't leave Rabou in there forever. Yato rapped his knuckles on the door.

"You doing okay in there? Did you figure out how to use everything?" he called. The door started to slide open and Yato swore, grabbing the edge of it and forcing it shut again. "Oi, don't come out here if you're naked!" he protested.

"When may I leave this room, then?" Rabou asked, muffled. "I bathed myself and cleansed my hair, as you told me to."

"Did you dry off, too?" Yato asked, feeling like a damn babysitter.

"Yes," came the reply. Nodding to himself, Yato opened the door just enough to pass the bundle of clothes through. After a second, he felt Rabou lift the bundle from his hand.

"Put these clothes on, and then you can come back out here," Yato told him. "That's your first lesson in modern living. It's called decency."

"That's a laugh coming from you," Daikoku commented.

"Whose side are you on, Daikoku?!" Yato whined. Kofuku giggled. Yukine, though, was still just scowling at the bathroom door. Yato took note of it; he didn't feel any stinging, but he did wonder what was going on in his boy's head.

Yato was surprised at how quickly the door slid open again; he'd been expecting Rabou to wrestle with the enigma of 21st century clothing for like an hour, but it was barely fifteen minutes later when the door opened. In fact, it was such a short time that he whirled around, fully prepared to slam the door shut again to shield his shinki's delicate eternally-youthful eyes.

But instead, Rabou stood in the doorway fully clothed. Rabou examined the sleeves of the sweatshirt that Yato had found for him, tugging at the stretchy cuffs. Yato had to admit, he felt he'd done a pretty good job of choosing an outfit that was almost (but not quite) as stylish as his own. He'd dug up a white tank top, a black hoodie with a red-lined hood, black cargo pants, and some clunky but sturdy brown leather hiking sandals. The sandals didn't really match the rest, but Yato had to get his revenge somehow, didn't he?

"Ah, Rabou-chan looks so modern now!" Kofuku exclaimed, clapping delightedly.

"Rabou- _chan_?!" Yato echoed in horror. Had she really been that quick to accept this asshole? "Daikoku, aren't you concerned by that?"

Daikoku frowned, but he just shrugged and took a drag on his cigarette. "My lady makes her own judgements on who to trust," he grunted. "She took to _you_ quickly enough, remember?"

Yato opened his mouth to protest again, then shut it grudgingly. That was true. Besides, he knew that Kofuku was friends with Bishamon and called her Bisha, as well (even if it was a somewhat one-sided friendship). And Kofuku had still threatened to deluge "Bisha" with Storms if she'd tried to hurt Yato, friendship notwithstanding. Mollified by the thought, he sighed resignedly and turned back to Rabou, who was looking back and forth between them in confusion.

"C'mon, let's go downstairs. We've gotta discuss a few things," he said, beckoning for Rabou to follow. A few minutes later, they were all seated around the kotatsu downstairs. Daikoku had reluctantly provided some snacks for all of them at Kofuku's insistence.

A minute or two ticked by awkwardly while Yato grappled with how to begin this conversation. Rabou took a sip from the tea that Daikoku had brewed, and his eyes widened in amazement. He took another quick taste of it, then took a rice cracker from the plate in the middle of the table and bit into it.

"Have you had anything to eat or drink since you, uh, reincarnated?" Daikoku asked, observing the haste with which Rabou inhaled the cracker and reached for another.

"I have not," Rabou told him. "These are delicious. Thank you for this, and the tea."

"Oh. Uh… you're welcome," Daikoku replied, eyebrows rising with surprise. He chewed on his cigarette, then added, "Guess you must be pretty hungry, then. Rice crackers aren't gonna cut it." He stood up and went back to the shop, coming back with a bowl of oden, and slid it and a pair of chopsticks over to Rabou. Yato gawked, hardly able to believe his own eyes.

"What is this?" Rabou asked, leaning down to sniff the aroma appreciatively.

"It's the house specialty," Daikoku said, a hint of pride in his tone. Rabou lifted the bowl and took a taste of the broth. He froze, eyes going wide again, and slowly set the bowl down.

"This is… this is wonderful," he said, and he actually almost sounded choked up. "Thank you!" He grabbed the chopsticks and began to devour the oden. Yato stared, processing this for a few seconds.

"Oi, Daikoku! You've never offered _me_ oden!" Yato protested as the situation sank in.

"Try being polite and thanking me once in a while like he did," Daikoku shot back. Yato grumbled and slouched down.

But then, as he was sitting there sulking— at last, his phone rang! He sprang to his feet, aglow with enthusiasm, helpfulness… and the promise of imminent money.

"Fast, reliable, and affordable! Delivery God Yato, at your service!" he announced. He listened dutifully to the caller on the other end; another urgent last-minute cleaning request, a young man's parents would be dropping by his new apartment for a visit and he, with his grueling work schedule, was too tired to whip the place into shape. Pretty standard, very easy… and a perfect introduction to the delivery god lifestyle for a certain useless idiot.

"What's this, now?" Rabou asked curiously, setting the empty oden bowl down.

"The sweet sound of a new customer with five yen," Yato told him. "You wanna know how you can survive in this world? Get up and come with me, you're about to see for yourself."

* * *

The young man who opened the door to them looked just as rattled and fatigued as he'd sounded on the phone.

"Oh, good!" he sighed in relief. Then he noticed Rabou and said, "Ah, I didn't think I'd get two cleaners."

"This is my apprentice! His name is Rabou," Yato proclaimed grandly without missing a beat. "Twice as many hands means that your place will be spotlessly clean in half the time! Let's get started right away, shall we?"

"Ah, of course! This way, please," the man said, ushering them inside. The place was definitely a mess; there were clothes scattered here and there, boxes still waiting to be unpacked, dishes piled up in the sink. Yato hated to admit it, but he was kind of glad to have an extra set of hands along— he had his work cut out for him on this one.

Yato shooed the man away after he'd shown them around the place, telling him to go take a nap. The young man gratefully accepted that offer, shuffling off and collapsing facedown onto the couch. Right away, Yato led Rabou to a bathroom and left him there for a minute while he went to fetch the cleaning supplies.

"Here you go!" Yato said gleefully, dumping the supplies on the floor. "Your first task: clean this bathroom."

"And how am I to do that?" Rabou asked, staring around the bathroom in puzzlement.

"With these!" Yato said, gesturing to the cleaning products. "Listen up, because I'm gonna tell you what to do— but after that, you're on your own. It'll be up to you to remember everything and put the pieces together." He smirked, figuring that this probably wasn't what Rabou had been imagining when he'd offered to assist Yato.

But Rabou just nodded firmly, clenching his fists. "I'm ready to begin, tell me what I must do," he said, lifting his chin resolutely.

Yato raised his eyebrows in surprise, but time was of the essence so he shrugged it off and briefly explained what needed to be done. With that, he advised Rabou to work quickly and left him to it, then went off to clean the kitchen. He'd come back in a while and see what his "apprentice" had accomplished.

* * *

With Yato gone, Rabou turned and surveyed the bathroom, reviewing what Yato had told him. There was much to be done, so all he had to do was choose a starting point. Kneeling down, he began rummaging through the heap of cleaning supplies and sorted them out. This was the task he'd been given, and he was going to see it through. He knew he had to prove himself worthy of this chance— his survival depended on it.

When Yato returned later, Rabou held out an arm to stop him from entering the bathroom.

"Take care, the floor is slippery. I've just used the mop that you gave me," Rabou cautioned as he examined the freshly-cleaned floor with a critical eye.

"Oh? You did, huh?" Yato asked skeptically. "Let me see."

Rabou edged to the side to let Yato peer into the room. Yato stepped past him, pushing his outstretched arm aside, and studied the work he'd done. Rabou looked over the room, trying to see if he'd missed anything that Yato might notice. He'd worked as swiftly as he could, as per Yato's instructions, but he had no idea what standard he was expected to match; as such, he'd settled for scrubbing everything in the bathroom as vigorously and rapidly as he possibly could.

"…Pretty good, for a first try," Yato admitted, though there was no mistaking the grudging tone with which he said it. He turned, saying, "C'mon, there's more to do."

But something on the floor caught Rabou's eye and he grabbed Yato's sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.

"Yato…" he said gravely. He'd just noticed something alarming, something that _offended_ him on a strangely personal level. He couldn't even fully explain why it perturbed him so, but it felt like a slap in the face. Yato glanced back over his shoulder at him, and Rabou pointed at the tiles. "You brought dirt onto my clean floor."

* * *

Two hours later, Yato roused the young man from his nap. His eyes went wide when he saw the apartment, and Rabou was equally as amazed at the difference that their work had wrought: the place looked larger, somehow, and it seemed brighter even though the sun had set and the light streaming in from outside had faded.

"Wow, it looks amazing!" the young man gushed. "You guys did a great job! Here, it was five yen, right?" He dug into his pocket and dug out two glinting coins, holding them out with a broad smile.

Yato took one coin and flipped it into the air, then caught it and held it up with a grin. "May our fates intertwine! Call on me again whenever you need help," he proclaimed.

Rabou, following Yato's example, took the other coin. It sat in the palm of his hand and gleamed in the light from overhead. This, too, felt so familiar. It made him think of the shrine he had left behind in the mountains.

They left the apartment building with the sky darkening overhead. As they walked, Rabou felt cold eyes watching him, and a prickling chill on his skin. He'd known this feeling before— in the mountains surrounding his shrine… and centuries ago, in the past. The image of darkened skies came back to him then. He suppressed a shudder and Yato glanced over at him.

"Yeah, you felt it too, huh? There's ayakashi nearby," Yato commented.

"Ayakashi? Are they the creatures that watch from the shadows?" Rabou asked. He could almost hear the things hissing from the dark corners beyond the street lamps, as if in response to their attention.

"That's them. The ones that lurk around and go 'smells good!'," Yato agreed. "That's the other thing you need to learn: ayakashi are spirits that feed off the negative energies of humans—"

"Is that not what we do, as gods of calamity?" Rabou asked, arching his eyebrows.

"N-no! Don't interrupt!" Yato protested, recoiling. "Look, these things have the ability to possess humans and feed off their emotions: fear, envy, anger, sadness. They thrive on corrupting human souls… and they'll do the same to us if we're not careful."

"Oh? These things corrupt gods as well as humans? I hadn't realized that we were so fragile," Rabou remarked, folding his arms over his chest. "Our very survival relies on the beliefs of our human followers, and these lurking spirits can destroy us— we're quite vulnerable, it seems."

"Don't get me wrong here, we're immortal and we have powers far beyond human abilities…but there's plenty of shit out there that can kill us," Yato warned. "Immortal doesn't mean invincible. That's why you're going to need a shinki, like Yukine."

"The boy who becomes a sword," Rabou commented. "He defends you from the ayakashi?"

"There's a lot that he does. You'll understand once you get your own shinki," Yato told him tersely. "A shinki is an uncorrupted human soul— they're not just weapons, they're our guides. And yeah, without them, we're easy prey for the ayakashi."

"I had a shinki, in the old times… I wonder what became of her," Rabou mused. He could just barely picture her face.

"You might not like hearing this, but she probably died after you did," Yato said. "Shinki are vulnerable without the god that named them. It's possible that she found another master to name her and take her in, but I'm not gonna pretend like it was an easy time for her."

Rabou glanced away, reflecting on the naginata-girl with mournful eyes that he'd seen in his visions. He had no idea how to feel about the news of his past shinki's likely fate. It was regrettable, but he hardly remembered her as it was.

"How may I find a new shinki, then?" Rabou asked, although he already suspected the answer he'd get.

"That's up to you. I can't pick one for you," Yato retorted. "Find an untainted human spirit and give it a name. That's all I can tell you. The rest is for you to do on your own. I will say this, though: the sooner you find one, the better. It's gonna be pretty hard to answer wishes without a shinki, and you'll be done for if you don't start answering wishes quickly."

Rabou looked off into the shadows, his jaw clenching as he felt a sudden swell of urgency. He knew Yato was right; every now and then, he'd been hearing those desperate pleas in his head. If he didn't start reaching out to those pleading voices, they'd soon stop asking. But they asked him to slay those who had interfered with them in some way, and Yato had told him that he wouldn't survive long taking those kinds of wishes. What was he to do, then?

"You weren't entirely wrong, you know," Yato added suddenly. "In the eyes of most other gods, we're not that much different from an ayakashi, you and I."

"Because we answer to the base desires of humanity," Rabou remarked.

"Yeah. Humans can't change their nature, but they've tried to advance themselves as a whole. They try to suppress those base desires now. They don't usually go around asking gods of calamity to do their dirty work for them anymore. And even if someone gets desperate enough to ask… well, it's not like they're gonna need people killed every damn day. Once a human is done with you, they forget you."

"And that is why I faded away, all those ages ago? That is why you struggle to survive now?" Rabou asked. "If that's so, then I must ask you one more question: do you believe, as my past self did, that it is our fate to be slain by disregard?" He found himself almost holding his breath as he waited for the answer.

"Nah. It just means we can't exist as gods of calamity anymore," Yato said, shoving his hands into his pockets and shrugging.

"Then, if not gods of calamity, what _are_ we? What must we become?" Rabou prompted.

Yato turned to him and flashed a grin. "Isn't it obvious?" he jibed. Drawing his five-yen coin from his pocket, he flipped it into the air and held it up so that it glinted in the lamp light. "We're delivery gods!"

* * *

This might actually be the most cliched ending to a chapter I've ever written, but I don't care, I like it and I enjoyed writing it. I hope you guys liked it too! Next chapter: Awkwardness Part II, featuring Rabou and Hiyori. Boy is she gonna be surprised, LMAO. Our boy Rabou has a long way to go still. His next task: earning forgiveness.

That concludes our revisions! See you in the next chapter. As always: got comments, questions, suggestions? Throw them at me! Listen, I don't mean to beg, but… as I said before, this has been a really rough time for me and my motivation is running dry right now. Hearing some feedback on the story, especially now, would really mean a lot to me. No one's obligated to comment, but if you're in the mood to do so, please feel free to drop a comment.

In the meantime: have you seen the movie The Road to El Dorado? If you have, please consider the following:

Yato: Rabou and Yato!

Rabou: Yato and Rabou! Mighty and powerful...

Both: Gods!

Hiyori, behind them: Hello!

Both: [High pitched screaming]

That is all, thank you.


	5. Chapter 4

SOOOO... this isn't the full chapter that I was planning on posting, but I managed to not update at all in 2017 (sorry) so I wanna get the ball rolling again with this partial chapter. Plus, I decided it'd make sense to give Hiyori her own chapter here, since this is gonna be prettyyyyyy awkward for her! Let's see what happens, shall we?

* * *

 **FOURTH CHAPTER: FEAR NOT**

Hiyori was a little concerned as she walked towards Kofuku's shop the next day. The incident with Rabou had been… strange, to say the least. And Yato's behavior had been so odd. First, he'd dragged Rabou out of the shop, claiming that they needed to talk about something— whatever it was, it had something to do with Rabou's apparent reincarnation. And then Yato had come back alone. He'd seemed pretty confident that Rabou wouldn't be a threat anymore; for now, all she could do was hope that he was right.

Despite her worries, she smiled as the familiar sight of the shop came into view. She'd gotten so used to coming here— hardly a day went by when she wasn't there. Especially with Yukine's studies, she'd visited so often that it had already become a comfortable routine.

"Good afternoon!" she called out as she passed through the shop to the house behind it.

"Hiii, Hiyorin!" Kofuku chirped. She stuck her head in from the backyard, where she'd been watering her flowers, and waved at her with the watering can— sloshing water all over the floor, of course. "Yato-chan and Yukki aren't here right now, they're on a job!"

"Oh, that's good to hear," Hiyori said; and it _was_ a relief to hear it, but she couldn't help feeling a twinge of disappointment whenever she arrived while they were out. She'd brought her materials for Yukine's lesson, so she decided she might as well wait for them to return.

Humming quietly to herself, she headed into the living room— and immediately froze in her tracks. A man in a sweatshirt and cargo pants sat at the kotatsu… a man with familiar white hair. Hiyori's satchel slipped from her shoulder and hit the floor with a smack, spilling schoolbooks at her feet. Rabou glanced up at the sound and spotted her. She stood frozen, locked in place, suddenly feeling clammy. Her heart was hammering so hard that it almost hurt. _Why is he here?!_ she thought.

"Hiyori-san?" Rabou asked, breaking the silence.

"Y-yes?!" she yelped, startled. She felt her face turn red at her fearful reaction.

"Yato isn't here, if it's he that you seek," Rabou said.

"U-um, yes, Kofuku-san already told me," she said hesitantly. Her head was spinning— what was Rabou doing, sitting there so calmly? Kofuku had greeted her like nothing was amiss— surely she would know if a vengeful, murderous god was lurking in her own home, right? Clearly, something was going on here. Yato had come back without Rabou after their conversation, but here he was again, and with different clothes, no less. What, exactly, had she missed last night after she'd gone home?

 _Don't lose your composure!_ she told herself. What would Tono-sama do? Surely, he'd stay strong in the face of potential danger. Tono-sama would stare death itself in the face. She wouldn't show fear. Admonishing herself, she gathered up the books, squared her shoulders, and strode over to the kotatsu, seating herself across from Rabou.

"I'm here for Yukine-kun's lesson, I'm going to wait for them," she proclaimed as she arranged the books on the tabletop.

"Very well," Rabou said. He turned his attention to something in his hands— an old iPhone, Hiyori realized. Why did he have a phone? What in the world had happened yesterday? Noticing her line of sight, Rabou sighed and examined the phone. "Yato gave this to me. He says that I will need it, if I am to survive in this modern era."

"Oh?" Hiyori remarked carefully. Her voice was barely shaking at all; she was proud of herself.

"I have much to learn, it seems," Rabou murmured, studying the phone. "Kofuku guided me to this Wikipedia. There is so much history that I have missed."

"…Oh?" Hiyori said again. She'd wanted to be brave and clever like her idol, but she was completely at a loss for words. Her heart was still pounding, and a cold sweat had broken out over her.

"Kofuku has informed me of these… bizarre, nonsensical things known as 'memes'. Apparently they're meant to be humorous," he said. "For instance, this 'PPAP', the strangely-dressed man who sings of something which does not exist. He claims to have all these things, yet his hands are empty. He then claims to combine these things for reasons that I cannot fathom. Why must he put a pineapple and a pen together? Are you familiar with this?"

"Y-yeah, I've, um, seen that one," she said, trying to muster a smile.

"Do you grasp its meaning?" Rabou asked, looking up at her. His yellow eyes sent a cold chill through her— all she could see was the rage in those eyes when he'd tried to sacrifice her to the Storm he'd absorbed.

"I'm not really sure," she said faintly.

"Perhaps I will come to understand the humor of these things in time," he mused. "There's another she showed me- ah yes, Maru, _that_ was the creature's name. Kofuku told me how to read the text. It's the image of a dog, and the dog's innermost thoughts surround it. Now, where did I… Ah, here it is— _'So scare. Concern. What r you doing. Wow'_." He sounded out the words with careful enunciation.

Hiyori couldn't even fake a response anymore. Oddly, she felt a sudden, almost desperate urge to laugh bubbling up inside her, a rising edge of hysteria. The ancient, dead god who had tried to kill her less than a week ago was talking politely to her about memes. He'd just read off that stupid 'doge' meme with the type of solemn grandiosity that was normally reserved for recitals of historical epic poetry. The surreality of it overwhelmed her and she stood up abruptly.

"Ah, um, I just remembered that I have to make a call. Excuse me," she said hastily. She turned and bolted out of the shop, then skidded to a stop and collapsed onto one of the patio's benches. She was shaking, and breathing hard like she'd just run a mile.

Hiyori had quite a few questions, and top among them were the matters of why Rabou was at Kofuku's place, why Yato had given him a phone, and why Kofuku had been teaching him about memes. Hadn't his past incarnation tried to kill them just a few days ago? Hadn't Yato sent him away the night before? What could possibly have changed so dramatically?

She frantically dug her phone from her coat pocket, wondering if she ought to call Yato, but then she spotted a notification on the screen— a text she'd missed earlier. Yato had a tendency to spam her on Twitter (and in texts, and in phone calls) so she'd taken to putting her phone in 'do not disturb' mode during school; she'd been busy that afternoon, making plans with her friends and organizing Yukine's lesson for the day, and apparently she'd forgotten to switch it back.

It was a text from Yato: _It seems there's plenty of ayakashi today, we'll be busy~ If you get to Kofuku's before us: we have a guest, don't panic!_ She stared at her phone, no less confused… but the quivering of her hands had subsided. Given that Yato, Kofuku, and Daikoku all knew about this, and Yato had texted to reassure her, then there had to be a reason for it.

Hiyori stood up and took a deep, shaky breath. She could do this. There was definitely an explanation for this and, whatever it was, Yato would tell her about it when he came back. Drawing herself up and smoothing the pleats of her skirt, she strode back inside and went right back to the kotatsu, seating herself as calmly as she could. Rabou's eyes flickered up to her as she sat, but he stayed quiet.

After a moment, he asked, "Did my presence here startle you?"

Hiyori hesitated; part of her wanted to deny it, to be like her idol and show no fear. But he'd clearly noticed her fear, and she'd look foolish now if she pretended otherwise. So she settled for nodding warily.

"I- my past self- harmed you before," Rabou reflected. "I know not whether it is right for me to apologize for the violence of my past incarnation- I hardly remember those acts or their motivation now. However, please know that I have no desire to take up arms against you or Yato ever again, nor anyone else that Yato cares for. That fight died with my past self. Whether it is right or wrong to ask forgiveness, I hope you'll believe that I mean you no harm now."

"O-okay," Hiyori said cautiously. She wasn't sure what else she could say; he wasn't outright asking for forgiveness and she wasn't sure that she was ready to grant it. Clearing her throat, she dug through the schoolbooks on the tabletop and started organizing them. Rabou opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then he seemed to think better of it and went back to his outdated iPhone. The heavy silence between them lasted until Kofuku bounced into the room, her arms loaded with snacks.

"Oh, good! You met Rabou-chan, Hiyorin!" she trilled. Skipping over to the kotatsu, she spilled the snacks onto the table and clasped her hands behind her back.

"Rabou-chan?" Hiyori echoed, doing her best to keep her confusion restrained under a polite tone.

"Uh huh! He's Yato-chan's apprentice now!" Kofuku told her excitedly. "Are you two getting along, hmm?"

Hiyori glanced dubiously at Rabou; he looked up from his phone to meet her gaze. She decided it was probably going to be a while before that golden-eyed stare stopping bringing a cold, clammy sweat to her skin. However, this wasn't exactly how she'd feared things would go if Rabou ever showed up here again, so…

"Sure, I guess so," Hiyori said, mustering a faint smile.

"Yay!" Kofuku cheered. "Don't worry, Hiyorin, Yato-chan told Rabou-chan to be on his best behavior! Right, Rabou-chan?" Kofuku practically slid across the kotatsu to pinch Rabou's cheek in a way that looked as menacing as it did playful.

"Yesh," Rabou agreed, muffled by his uncomfortably stretched cheek. The look on his face put Hiyori in mind of a put-upon, long-suffering family cat.

"Ah, did he?" Hiyori remarked, smiling slightly. Well, that explained the respectful form of address Rabou had been using. Neither Yato nor Kofuku had ever addressed her as -san, after all. Despite her lingering unease, Hiyori couldn't help but smile a little wider at the mental picture of Yato scolding Rabou to be polite to her. She imagined him waggling a finger, fist on hip, while Rabou stood before him with his head hanging low in shame.

Kofuku plopped down next to Rabou and grabbed a bag of shrimp chips, chattering away at him as if they were old friends. Every so often she'd pause to feed Rabou a chip, and he accepted each one patiently. Hiyori watched with faint amusement; it was almost enough to make her forget her terror of a few minutes ago, and that itself was bizarre too. It was like watching someone hand-feed a wild fox— it was funny and a little bit cute, but with the nagging worry that the feeder could lose a finger at any moment.

At last, a pair of familiar voices drifted in from the front of the shop— bickering, as usual, from the sounds of it. Thinking fast, Hiyori excused herself and hurried outside to catch them; she made it to the patio just as Yato and Yukine ambled into view. Yato paused at the sight of her, and for a moment, he studied her with a solemn frown.

"I'm gonna go get started on my chores," Yukine said after an uncomfortably quiet pause. Yato made an assenting noise, nodding slightly. Yukine sidled away and hurried into the house, while Yato's serious expression stayed right where it was.

His contemplative expression and silence lasted for only a second longer, though; then he broke into his customary grin, winking and flashing a peace sign.

"Good afternoon, Hiyori!" Yato singsonged. "Have you been getting reacquainted with my apprentice?"

"Um, yeah," Hiyori agreed, mustering a smile. "Did you have much trouble with the ayakashi today?"

Yato sighed dramatically. "There were some nasty ones out there, I admit it. Nothing that my bad-ass shinki and I couldn't handle though!"

"That's good," Hiyori said. Yato's electric blue eyes searched her face again and she could feel her cheeks redden a little. Sometimes, when his face got serious like that-

"Did I make you worry?" Yato asked. "Sorry about that. I was going to text and let you know last night, but—" He paused, poked his tongue out and tapped the heel of his hand against his temple, "—it _totally_ slipped my mind!"

"That's the kind of thing you should really try harder to remember! I wasn't expecting to see him here, it was a pretty bad shock!" Hiyori chided in exasperation. To her surprise, Yato's expression grew solemn again.

"Has he been minding his manners? I told him to be on his best behavior when you got here," Yato said.

"Huh? O-oh, yeah. He's even been calling me '-san'," Hiyori said. "It— it really was a shock, though… what happened yesterday?"

"Rabou found his way back to the shop after you left," Yato said. "He asked for my help— although it was really more like pleading, actually."

She hesitated, then asked, "Do you think he's… safe?"

"He's not the same as he was before. That's all I can say for now," Yato said, shoving his hands into his pockets and shrugging.

"He told me he didn't want to fight you anymore," Hiyori said quietly. "I wonder… maybe he really meant it?"

"Yeah, I wonder," Yato murmured. But then he roused his usual reckless grin and assured her, "Don't worry! If he starts acting up, he'll get a good taste of Sekki's steel again!"

 _He actually is taking this seriously,_ Hiyori realized. She smiled and nodded, somewhat reassured. For now, at least, they were safe; unless that changed, she'd have faith in Yato's decision.

* * *

Rabou sighed and leaned against the kotatsu's tabletop, idly swiping his fingertip across the screen of his new phone. He still didn't understand why this thing was called a "phone", or what "phone" meant, but Yato was insistent that he needed it. Even so, he was having trouble keeping his attention on it. At first, the thing had fascinated him, but the longer he waited for Yato to return, the less it held his focus.

Those troublesome flashes, those glimpses of memories, hadn't bothered him since the previous day. After running back to Yato and begging for his help, they'd seemingly retreated; they hadn't happened at all while the two of them had cleaned the young man's apartment.

And yet, even as he reflected on their absence, he could feel it creeping in again: the fog, the ache in his skull, the echoes of distant memories. Even at that exact moment, a shimmer of fog clouded his eyes. His fingertip hovered above the phone's screen; he could hardly even see it now. And the voices, again, too...

 _Rabou-sama, I beg of you, make them pay! Make them all pay!_ His hand jerked, his fingertip stabbing harshly against the smooth screen. The fog cleared, leaving behind a dull ache.

He took a sharp intake of breath, letting it out slowly. Yes, he'd recognized that the errant voices belonged to his followers, for all the good it did him. Of course, he knew now what it was that they expected of him- each of them wanted him to cut someone down. Granted, he had no weapon with which to answer those kinds of requests- and even if he did...

"Goooood afternoon, apprentice! It's shinki time!" Yato crowed, bursting into the living room. Rabou jolted in surprise, looking up from his phone.

"Shinki time?" he echoed, sending a confused glance at Yukine sitting across the kotatsu. Yukine scowled and shrugged before glancing away.

"That's right! The moment you've been eagerly awaiting, I'm sure. We're gonna go find you… your very own sacred vessel!" Yato proclaimed with a dramatic point of his index finger. Rabou put his phone down and sat up straighter.

"May I begin taking on wishes by myself once I have a shinki?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

"One step at a time, my dear padawan!" Yato said loftily.

"I've no idea what that means," Rabou told him, frowning. Yato sighed, shaking his head.

"You'll learn these things, foolish novice. You'll learn," Yato replied, and Rabou could barely restrain an aggrieved sigh at his overly solemn tone. Turning to the others, Yato chimed, "Let's roll, Yukine! Let's go find you a new kouhai!"

"Kouhai?!" Yukine echoed, horrorstruck.

"Of course! If Rabou here is my apprentice, then I'm like his senpai, right? So, then that'd make his shinki like an underclassmen to you!" Yato said with a wink.

Yukine scoffed, but his cheeks colored. "Guess I _have_ to tag along, you're totally useless without me if a Phantom shows up," he grumbled.

Yato cheered and turned eagerly to Hiyori. "Hiyoriiii! Wanna come along? We can reminisce about the day I named my own amazing, darling, genius shinki!"

Rabou shot a curious, sidelong glance at Hiyori; after her frightened reaction, not even two hours previously, he did wonder what she'd do.

She grasped her pink scarf uneasily, then smiled faintly and said, "Actually, if we're not doing Yukine-kun's lesson right now, I should probably go. My parents are both home early today and since I told them I was just tutoring a friend, they'll start to wonder if I'm out too late..."

Yato looked let down for a second, and then he grinned and flashed a peace sign at her. "Okay, Hiyori! You go home and spend some quality time with the parents, and we'll tell you all the thrilling details later!"

"If there _are_ any," Yukine added grouchily.

* * *

 **The rest of the chapter is in progress! It'll get there. Any and all comments are welcome! Thanks for reading.**


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